Steal the Show
by kgregs
Summary: Hannah McMahon doesn't want to be on TV; she's perfectly satisfied working as WWE's Director of Talent Relations. And after getting burned, she doesn't want to date within the business, either. But when Vince taps her to lead the Shield, she's thrust into the spotlight - and a web of complex relationships. Dean Ambrose/OC/CM Punk. AJ Lee, Seth Rollins, Stephanie McMahon, Triple H.
1. The One Who Turned On the Lights

_A/N: Hello, dear readers, and welcome to "Turn On the Lights" 2.0, otherwise known as "Steal the Show." If you followed/favorited TOtL, or if you've discovered this fic for the first time, please follow/favorite this little fic, as well - I promise you won't regret it. Thank you again to everyone who's stuck with me over the last three years and change, and welcome new readers :) I certainly hope this story exceeds expectations. As always, reviews are much appreciated._

 **Chapter One**

 _Wednesday, January 9, 2013  
_ _WWE Headquarters  
_ _Stamford, Connecticut_

"Can this wait? I'm late for my meeting with El Generico." Hannah McMahon anxiously checked the time on her Michael Kors watch; she was four minutes late, to be exact, and every extra second that ticked by chimed like a gong in her skull. If she botched this meeting she'd never forgive herself—she'd been working on signing El Generico since _November_. Surely, whatever her father wanted to speak with her about could wait until later.

She should have known better. Vincent Kennedy McMahon waited for no one. "This will only take a moment," he returned as he swiveled to face her. He folded his hands atop his expansive oak desk and asked, "Tell me: how do you feel about the Shield?"

Hannah stared back at him, dumbfounded and more than a bit perturbed. She did _not_ have time for this. "Seriously? You could've _texted_ me about this."

"No, we need to have this conversation face-to-face."

" _Why?_ "

"Because, Hannah," Vince obliged, "we're planning on revealing the mastermind behind the Shield soon, and I want it to be you."

The seconds stopped chiming; Hannah stopped breathing. She must have misheard him. "What?"

Vince sat up straighter, a slight smirk on his lips. That was clearly the reaction he'd been hoping for. "I want you written into this storyline. I want you on TV."

Hannah shook her head. The ticking from her watch resumed. "No. You know I don't want to be on TV."

"I know, but you're the perfect person for this role."

"No, I'm not," she repeated. "I already have my perfect role, and it's finding you people to put in front of the camera—not being in front of the camera _myself_. And speaking of that, I need to go sign one of those people right now."

"I agree; you've done a helluva job as Director of Talent Relations. But that's exactly why I want you for _this_ job."

Hannah paused, one foot out the door. "That doesn't make any damn sense."

"Sure it does!" Vince argued. "Tell me, what do you look for in a WWE Superstar? Why are you so eager to sign El Generico, for example?"

"Because he deserves it," she blithely returned.

"Okay. But why?"

Hannah checked her watch again; she was six minutes late now, but there was no point arguing with her father. He'd keep her here all day if she didn't entertain his ridiculous notions. "Because he's a master of his craft," she answered. "He lives and breathes pro wrestling. He's dedicated his life to it. He's busted his ass for years and years to get to where he is and goddammit now I see your point." She collapsed back against his office doorframe, defeated. She'd proven Vince right and he hadn't even broken a sweat.

"You see?" Her father's eyes twinkled; Hannah could practically see the gears turning in his brain. "The Shield is fighting for the exact same thing onscreen that you've been fighting for for years behind the scenes: justice for the dedicated worker. For the little guy, the unconventional guy, the guy who's given his blood, sweat, and tears to this business. You and the Shield have the same M.O, Hannah. So who better than you to lead them?"

Hannah stood up straight. Sure, she could see Vince's reasoning; she'd been working for years now to change the landscape of World Wrestling Entertainment. She _hated_ signing models over accomplished women wrestlers. She _loathed_ holding back a skilled worker just because he wasn't the biggest or best-looking guy on the roster. In fact, if she had it her way Daniel Bryan would be the No. 1 contender to the WWE Championship, not _the Rock_. The Rock wasn't a _wrestler_ , not anymore; he had abandoned WWE to become a movie star. Why should he get to waltz in the door and be handed a title match while all the guys who busted their asses each and every night were overlooked?

"So, what do you say?" Vince prodded. "Do you want to be the mastermind behind the Shield?"

Hannah glanced down at her watch again. Nine minutes late. Indeed, she and the Shield did have the same M.O.; but that sure as hell didn't mean she wanted to work with them on television. "I'll think about it," she returned, and she left before Vince could get in another word.

* * *

 _Hannah McMahon's House  
_ _Greenwich, Connecticut_

Some eight hours and a glass of merlot later, Hannah was still thinking—and she wasn't any closer to a decision. She was so far from a decision, in fact, that she broke down and did the absolute last thing she _ever_ wanted to do: ask her sister for advice.

"I don't know, Steph. This whole thing came out of left field." She frowned as she pressed her iPhone against her ear. She and her older sister rarely saw eye-to-eye, especially when it came to the family business. But if there was anyone who could give her some insight on Vince's mad machinations, it was Stephanie.

"I know it did," Stephanie agreed. "But he's got his heart set on you being the Shield's leader."

Hannah took another gulp of wine. "When did he even come up with this?"

"Monday night during the TLC match. Remember when all the lights went off, and when they came back up the Shield was in the ring? It was like a light bulb went on above his head. He turned to me and said, 'Hannah's the one who turned off the lights!' He pointed his finger in the air and everything. It was kinda weird, actually."

Hannah rolled her eyes. She didn't have to sound so perplexed by the whole thing. "And what did _you_ say?"

"I told him he was nuts. You've never been on TV before."

"Hey—that's not true," Hannah shot. She _had_ been on TV before, once, during Stephanie's scripted wedding to Test in 1999. She'd been fourteen years old at the time, and it had been the most ridiculous experience of her life.

"Fine, you haven't had a _speaking role_ on TV," Stephanie corrected. "Standing in the ring holding a bouquet of flowers for 10 minutes hardly counts. And besides—you couldn't stop laughing the entire time."

Hannah grinned wryly to herself. "It was funny!" she proclaimed. Admittedly, Stephanie's disaster wedding to Test was one of her favorite moments in WWE history. When Triple H had interrupted the nuptials to play the video footage of him marrying a drugged-up Stephanie at a Las Vegas drive-thru wedding chapel, Hannah was supposed to act just as shocked and appalled as the rest of her family—but she had burst out laughing instead. To this day people still came up to her to say that her reaction had stolen the entire segment.

"Yeah, well it didn't speak much to your acting ability," Stephanie groused.

"I was _fourteen_ ," Hannah returned. "I think I've gained some maturity over the last thirteen years."

"Well good, because you'll need it if you're gonna do this."

Hannah's brow puckered. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

" _Seriously?_ " Stephanie incredulously countered. "The Shield's been working as mercenaries for CM Punk ever since their debut, Hannah. If you take on this role you'll probably have to work with Phil."

Hannah paused, her wine glass pressed to her lips. She'd forgotten that little detail. How the hell had she forgotten that detail? There'd been an implied alliance between the Shield and CM Punk for _months_ now—Seth Rollins, Dean Ambrose, and Roman Reigns had interfered in every one of Punk's pay-per-view matches (and then some) since _Survivor Series_. If she was going to work with the Shield, _of course_ she'd have to work with Punk too.

"Hannah?" Stephanie asked into the silence. Hannah shook her head.

"That's a non-issue," she dismissed. "So what if I have to work with Phil?"

Stephanie hesitated. "You two don't exactly get along."

"So? You and I don't get along either and we work together just fine."

"I'm your _sister_ ," Stephanie reasoned. "Phil is your ex."

"And?" Hannah parlayed. She really didn't see what the big deal was. "Do you know how many people in this company have to work with their ex? If everyone in WWE refused to work with their ex half the locker room would be out of a job."

"Yeah, but Phil left you for someone else in that locker room."

Hannah bit down on her jaw— _hard_. "Yeah, I know," she deadpanned. "It was my relationship. You really don't need to remind me how it ended."

"I'm sorry," Stephanie backtracked; Hannah took another giant gulp of wine. "I just want you to know what you'd be getting into."

"Oh I know _exactly_ what I'd be getting into. And you know what? I'm doing it. I'll tell dad tomorrow. Thanks for the advice, _Steph_."

"Hannah, don't let your pride make the decision for you," Stephanie said, but Hannah had made up her mind.

"Goodnight!" She abruptly ended the call and tossed her iPhone to the other side of the couch. The WWE Universe better get ready, because Hannah McMahon was making her long-awaited return—and she'd make damn sure to steal the show _again_.


	2. Welcome to the Show

_A/N: So I'm pretty floored by the response this story has gotten already - 46 followers and 21 favorites after just one (short) chapter?! Thank you so much for the support, and a special thank you to the eight readers who left reviews :) Anyhow, I wasn't going to post this chapter until next Monday, but I decided to go ahead and publish it because of the awesome response to the first chapter. Moving forward, I'll do my best to publish a new chapter every Monday. I apologize that this one isn't much longer than the first, but I promise they will get more lengthy. As always, please take a second to review at the end - I really would like to know what you think._

 **Chapter Two**

 _Monday, January 14, 2013  
_ WWE Monday Night RAW  
 _Toyota Center – Houston, Texas_

Hannah had expected there to be a fair amount of buzz backstage at the Toyota Center that afternoon. It was _Monday Night RAW_ 's 20th anniversary show, after all, and there would be cake and a steel cage match and a Rock Concert. But what Hannah _hadn't_ expected was all the buzz about _her_. Word had spread like wildfire through the locker room that she'd be joining the cast of onscreen personalities, and speculation about her role was already running rampant; and to be honest, all the attention was making her a bit queasy.

"I've literally been waiting forever for you to be on TV. I'm talking about before I was even signed with WWE, when I was just watching _RAW_ at home. I've been waiting _forever_ for this, Hannah."

Hannah's stomach lurched. She'd thought talking with her good friend Colby—known to the WWE Universe as Seth Rollins, the "architect" of the Shield—would make her feel better. But he was definitely making it worse. "Jeez. No pressure or anything."

"Oh come on, you'll get an automatic pop, guaranteed," he grinned. "Aren't you excited?"

"I think _overwhelmed_ is a better adjective," she returned. After her tense phone conversation with Stephanie last week, Hannah had slept on and reevaluated the situation with a more sober mind, but she'd come to the same conclusion: she was a professional and, like her father said, the perfect person the lead the Shield. But now that she was backstage in the thick of it, she was more nervous than she'd been in a long time.

"When's your debut?" Daniel Bryan—real name, Bryan Danielson—asked. Like Colby, Hannah counted Bryan among her friends; she had pushed for WWE to re-sign him after he had been unceremoniously fired during the infamous 2010 "tiegate" incident.

"I don't know yet," she shrugged. She wanted to add, "Hopefully not for a long time," but kept that thought to herself.

"My money's on the _Royal Rumble_ ," Colby guessed. It made Hannah frown; the _Royal Rumble_ was less than two weeks away.

"What's _that_ face for?" Bryan laughed.

"I'm not gonna be ready by the _Royal Rumble_!" she returned. "I've never cut a promo in my life!"

"So start practicing!"

"Yeah," Colby agreed. He nodded toward Bryan. "Cut a promo on Bryan right now."

Hannah's eyes bulged. "Um, _what?_ "

"Yeah, why not?" Bryan grinned. "Cut a promo on me right now."

They both stared at her, waiting. Her eyes darted helplessly between them, and then nervously around at their surroundings. Were they _serious?_ There were _people_ everywhere. If she was going to make an idiot of herself she'd much rather do it in private.

"Come on," Bryan prodded. "I _know_ you can do this. Here, I'll prompt you."

He stepped forward, rubbing his palms together, getting into the mindset of his character; and the next thing Hannah knew, he'd thrust his pointer finger firmly into her face. "NO! You're nothing but a _hypocrite_ , Hannah McMahon! You're not fighting against _injustice_! All you're doing is abusing the power of your family's name to get your 15 minutes of fame and screwing over hardworking, deserving wrestlers in the process! Do you really think those goons in the Shield would be listening to you if your name wasn't _McMahon_? You'd be _nothing_ without your name, and you're just throwing a temper tantrum because everyone knows who Vince, Linda, Shane, and Stephanie are, but don't give a _crap_ who you are."

Everyone around was staring, but Hannah didn't notice them at all. She quirked a brow at Bryan; he certainly hadn't pulled any punches with his source material. Two could play that game. If it was a dose of reality he wanted, she was more than willing to give it to him.

"You're right," she admitted with a nod of her head. "The WWE Universe doesn't know me as well as they do the rest of my family. They certainly know my father, the Chairman and CEO of WWE, better than they know me. They know my selfish bitch of a sister better than they know me. Hell, they even know my opportunistic leech of a brother-in-law better than they know me. But you know what, Daniel? _You_ sure as hell know me. _You_ wouldn't be standing here right now if it weren't for me. My father threw you out on your ass, and who brought you back? Who fought to give you another chance, Daniel? _I_ did. _Hannah_ McMahon did, and if it weren't for my _name_ you wouldn't be one half of the WWE Tag Team Champions right now. You wouldn't even have a _job_. You have _me_ to thank for your career, Daniel Bryan, and the WWE Universe has _me_ to thank for fighting for guys like you, and Seth Rollins, and Dean Ambrose, and Roman Reigns, and CM Punk, and every other hardworking man and woman who _deserves_ to be here. So tell me again: how is it that I've been so _unjust_?"

A loud, slow clap erupted as she finished. Hannah jumped, startled, and turned to face her audience. It was Dean Ambrose. "Good job, boss," he complimented.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She had been so in-the-zone as she was railing against Bryan, but now she just felt silly. "Thanks."

"I hate to interrupt," he went on, "but we're up next."

"Game time," Colby said with a clap of his hands. He sent Hannah a smirk, "Catch you later, boss. I don't think you need much practice."

"For real, Hannah," Bryan agreed. "That was pretty damn good."

"Thanks," she bashfully repeated; but as Colby and Bryan set off down the hall, Ambrose lingered behind. Hannah shifted uncomfortably. Would he stop _looking_ at her like that?

Ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. "Welcome to the show," he said, and with that he turned and followed after the others.

Hannah expelled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something about Dean Ambrose made her uneasy.

* * *

Later that night, _RAW_ had wrapped and the talent and crew were busy packing up to hit the road to San Antonio for Tuesday's _SmackDown_ taping, but Hannah wasn't ready to leave just yet—she had to find Kaitlyn and congratulate her. That night, in front of her hometown crowd, Kaitlyn had captured her first WWE Divas Championship from Eve, and the two had put on an absolutely fantastic match. Honestly, the caliber of the contest had taken Hannah—and everyone else—completely by surprise. But that was the unfortunate nature of the Divas division: with the exception of a few bright spots, the division had grown notably weak and overlooked in recent years. But that night in Houston, Kaitlyn and Eve had proven they could hang with the likes of Lita and Trish Stratus if only given the chance—and Hannah wanted to let them know that their hard work hadn't gone unnoticed.

Naturally, the first place she thought to look for them was the Divas' dressing room. She eagerly rapped her knuckles against the door, but no sooner had she taken two steps into the room than she abruptly stopped. Kaitlyn wasn't there. But Kaitlyn's best friend—and the very last person on Earth Hannah would _ever_ want to be alone with—was.

"Hannah!" AJ Lee shot up from her seat like it was suddenly electrified. "Are you looking for someone?" Her dark eyes were wide with surprise behind her thick-rimmed glasses, and one of the shoelaces of her black Chuck Taylors was undone. Hannah pursed her lips. In the ring, AJ was an overwhelming fan favorite; but backstage was a different story. Many of the other Divas didn't like her because she acted like a supercilious bitch. Hannah, on the other hand, had a far more _personal_ reason to despise her.

"I just wanted to congratulate Kaitlyn," Hannah returned. The shorter this encounter, the better. "Is she still here?"

AJ shook her head, a frown on her face. "Oh, no. You just missed her."

"Oh," Hannah echoed, and a pregnant silence immediately enveloped them. AJ rocked awkwardly back and forth on her toes, her lips drawn into a tight smile; Hannah stood with her arms crossed over her chest, wondering if it would be too unprofessional if she just left. But then AJ made an attempt at conversation.

"Her match with Eve was great, wasn't it? It was honestly the best Divas match I've seen on _RAW_ in months."

"Years," Hannah countered. "But yeah, I was impressed. I'm sure she was excited to win the title in front of her friends and family."

"Oh, she was _so_ happy," AJ gushed. "I was happy _for_ her. She's been working so hard."

Hannah nodded. "It showed," she said; and, for once, AJ seemed to send her a genuine smile.

"I'll be sure to tell her you said that. I know she'll appreciate it."

"Thanks," she said, but the forced niceties only made the ensuing silence all the more unbearable. Hannah wasn't willing to stick it out this time. "Well," she started—but AJ spoke up again.

"Is it true that you're gonna be on TV? I heard someone say something about it earlier."

Hannah paused, her hand on the door. AJ seemed a bit apprehensive, like maybe she knew she shouldn't have asked such a forthright question. Or maybe she was just afraid to know the answer. A smirk curled on Hannah's lips.

"Yeah, I am. They're writing me into a storyline with the Shield."

AJ opened her mouth, but nothing came out at first. She looked like a four-eyed guppy. "Oh. That's exciting."

"Yeah, it is," Hannah agreed. "Who knows? Maybe I'll even take a page from Stephanie's book and go after the Divas Title. Hey—maybe we'll get to square off against each other."

Every inch of AJ's tiny five-foot-two frame visibly tensed, like a rubber band threatening to snap; Hannah could see her jaw flexing as she grit her teeth. Apparently something she'd said had struck a nerve. "Maybe," she forced. "I'm sure it would make for an interesting match."

Hannah held her gaze for a beat longer. The pressure in the air was enough to crush them both. "Well, I should get going. Drive safe," she offered—but when she reached for the door handle, AJ stopped her for a third time.

"I don't drive anymore. I ride with Phil on his bus."

Hannah bit down on her jaw; her knuckles turned white from squeezing the door handle. That comment had served no purpose other than to irritate her, and it had worked like a charm. It was all she could do to keep herself from spinning around and slapping the taste out of AJ's mouth.

"Have a nice night, AJ," she returned; and even though she was the very picture of poise and composure as she strode out the door, inside she was screaming.


	3. Spider-Bitch

_A/N: Finally a longer chapter for you! I'm excited for this one; Punk makes his first appearance for those who have been waiting. As always, thank you to everyone who followed/favorited/reviewed after the last chapter, and please do take a second to drop a review at the end of this one :)_

 **Chapter Three**

 _Everything was just as perfect as Hannah had hoped. No—_ more _perfect. There wasn't a cloud in the bright blue sky and the air was pleasantly crisp. The trees were ablaze with fiery shades of orange and red, and the grass felt soft and smelled sweet. Her ivory lace gown fit her like a glove. And the man of her dreams stood before her, grasping her hands in his. In that moment, there was no one else in the world but them._

 _"_ _Hannah, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?"_

 _Hannah's heart swelled, and her voice didn't falter. "I do."_

 _"_ _Phil, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?"_

 _Hannah had never seen Phil smile so wide. He gripped her hands tighter; her knees grew weak. "I—"_

 _"_ _No you don't."_

 _Hannah whirled around. Who had said that? She couldn't see anyone, but shadows had gathered at the edge of the tree line. Leaves crumbled and fell in waves from the branches, leaving behind nothing but hard, skeletal limbs. A sudden chill gripped Hannah's heart; it was AJ. Her long ebony hair was glossy and thick, and her eyes were dark and menacing. But what disturbed Hannah most was the gown she wore. It was identical to hers, but black as pitch. So was the sky._

 _"_ _He doesn't love you, Hannah," AJ proclaimed. "He loves_ me _."_

 _"_ _What are you talking about?" Hannah cried. Her eyes darted fretfully to Phil. But he was captivated, as if under a spell. "Phil?"_

 _A smirk played on AJ's lips. "Tell her, Phil. Tell her who you_ really _want to have and to hold."_

 _"_ _Shut up!" Hannah was quickly losing control. An icy cold filled her and lungs and stole her breath. "Phil, what is she talking about? Phil!"_

 _Phil dropped Hannah's hands. She reached for him, but her fingers passed right through his arm, like he was a ghost. "I'm sorry, Hannah," he intoned. "This just doesn't feel right anymore."_

 _"_ _What?" Tears spilled from Hannah's eyes, streaking mascara down her pale cheeks. Why was this happening? "Phil, please! I thought you loved me?"_

 _"_ _I_ told _you, Hannah," AJ hissed; Hannah swore she saw long, knobby spider legs sprouting from her back. "He loves_ me _now."_

 _Hannah's knees gave out from under her and she collapsed to the ground, soiling her dress with dirt. It felt like the world was spinning, and thunder rumbled in the distance. It grew louder, and closer, and it seemed to engulf her on all sides. But then she realized it wasn't thunder at all. It was laughter—raucous, humiliating laughter. She opened her eyes, and to her horror she discovered that she was no longer outside, underneath a canopy of trees. She was in the middle of a wrestling ring, and all around her stood thousands and thousands of ugly, horrible people; and they were all pointing and laughing at her._

* * *

Hannah awoke in a cold sweat. She looked around, her heart pounding against her ribcage. She was safe. She wasn't wearing a dirty wedding dress in the middle of a wrestling ring in front of a mad, laughing crowd; she was wearing her pajamas, snuggled in the comfort of her queen-sized bed in the privacy of her own home. She exhaled, long and deep. _What a bizarre fucking dream._

In the year or so that Hannah and Phil had been together, they hadn't once considered marriage. Not even close. In a word, their relationship had been _complicated_. But they had been in love—madly, deeply, and blindly in love. Truly in love, or at least she had thought so at the time. Looking back now, it was clear she had thought wrong. _She_ had been in love, and he had been waiting for something better—something _easier_ —to come along. Apparently, that something was AJ Lee.

Of course, Hannah had considered getting revenge. It would have been so _easy_. She was WWE's Director of Talent Relations; her father was the _Chairman and CEO_. She could have had Phil and AJ both terminated at the snap of her fingers. But Phil had been in the middle of what was now the longest and most entertaining WWE Championship reign of the modern era, and Hannah knew if she fired AJ he would walk. So she had done nothing. But the high road was an awfully lonely place.

It had been just over four months since Phil had left her for AJ, and in that time Hannah had gone from broken to bitter to completely emotionally detached, but she thought she had healed from the wound he had left; at least, in the way that a scab or scar was preferable to a wound. But, at least according to her subconscious, she wasn't as okay as she thought.

* * *

 _Wednesday, January 16, 2013  
_ _WWE Headquarters  
_ _Stamford, Connecticut_

"Wait. So you had a dream that Punk left you at the altar for AJ, and then she turned into a giant spider?"

Hannah winced. That morning she had been called into a meeting with Paul Levesque—a.k.a. Triple H, her brother-in-law and WWE's Executive Vice President of Talent, Live Events, and Creative—and somehow she had wound up telling him all about the nightmare she had had hours earlier. Now, in the clarity of daylight, it somehow seemed even _more_ bat-shit insane than when she had dreamed it. "Well, I never actually saw her _become_ a spider—I just saw the legs. But yeah."

"Jesus, Hannah," Paul laughed. "You need to stop watching all those creepy TV shows you're into."

"That has nothing to do with it," she shot. "After _RAW_ on Monday I ran into AJ backstage and she threw her relationship with Phil in my face."

"Oh come on," he breathed. Undoubtedly the last thing Paul wanted to talk about was his sister-in-law's love life. "I thought you were over this? I say good riddance; Punk's a prick. He and AJ deserve each other."

"I _am_ over it," Hannah dismissed, and as if to prove it to herself she abruptly changed the subject. "You called me in here to talk about the Shield, so let's talk about the Shield."

"All right then," Paul agreed. "I have some news. You'll make your big reveal at the _Royal Rumble_ , but we're still working out how to involve the Shield in the WWE Title match."

Hannah pursed her lips. "Is Punk still dropping the title to the Rock?"

"Of course," Paul returned; but when Hannah balked at his response he looked confused. "Aren't you _happy_ about that?"

"No I'm not _happy_ about it," she spat. "I may have a personal grudge against Punk but he's an amazing champion. He's held the title for what, 423 days now? And you're making him drop it to the Rock as a _marketing ploy_. It's not fair."

Paul met her disapproval with a hardened stare. It was eerie how much he reminded Hannah of her father sometimes. "Save your complaints for TV, Hannah. That's what's happening and we're not changing it."

Hannah rolled her eyes. Oh, how different things would be if _she_ were the head of Creative.

"There's something else I wanted to talk to you about," he went on. "As I'm sure you've noticed, for a while now we've been hinting at a connection between the Shield and Brad Maddox. And now that you've signed on, I think you and Maddox should be… involved."

" _Involved?_ " Hannah asked—but he hadn't even gotten to the best part yet.

"Engaged, to be specific."

There was a moment of stunned silence; and then Hannah burst out laughing. " _What?_ You're joking, right?" she said. He must be joking—he was _always_ pulling dumb pranks. But the look on his face suggested this was no joke.

"I'm completely serious."

Her smile faltered. "You can't be."

Paul tried to reason with her. "Think about it, Hannah. Right now, Maddox is playing an ex-referee who wants a wrestling contract. If you two are 'engaged,'" he made sure to emphasize the word with air quotes, "it suddenly gives you a valid reason to hold the Shield over Vince's head until he grants Maddox that contract. You'll demand that he's signed, and threaten that the Shield's attacks will continue until he is."

Hannah looked him dead in the eye. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"Come on, no it's not."

"Yes it is, Paul! I thought I was supposed to be fighting for justice, not for a contract for my _fake fiancé_."

"You are fighting for justice," he firmly stated. "But congratulations, because you're also fake-engaged. I'm sure you and Brad will be very fake-happy together."

Hannah narrowed her eyes at her brother-in-law. In a matter of hours, she had gone from left at the altar by one man to engaged to another. If only her _actual_ love life was this eventful.

* * *

 _Monday, January 21, 2013  
_ WWE Monday Night RAW  
 _HP Pavilion – San Jose, California_

Hannah wasn't exactly thrilled to be at _RAW_ that night; just the thought of being in the same building as Phil and AJ made her nauseous. But, as always, the show must go on, and she sure as hell wasn't going to let her bastard ex and his deranged girlfriend keep her from doing her job—even if AJ _did_ turn into a giant spider. At least then Hannah would be able to get away with murdering her.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't my blushing bride-to-be."

Hannah stopped dead in her tracks. Make that _three_ people whose presence made her ill. "Hello, Brad." Brad Maddox wore tight gray slacks and a dark red button-up that was intentionally two sizes too small. In other words, he looked like his usual sleazy self. Hannah honestly didn't know him all that well, but it was a shame he always came off as such a scumbag. If he didn't, she might not mind pretending to be engaged to him; he wasn't half bad looking, although she'd never admit she thought so aloud.

"I gotta say, Hannah," he started, "when Paul told me the plan I was pretty shocked. But I have a feeling this is the start of a beautiful relationship."

An unflattering snort escaped Hannah's nose. " _You have a feeling?_ I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but we barely know each other."

"You're right, we don't. But I think it would be a good idea to _get_ to know each other, don't you? I mean, considering we'll probably be making out with each other on live television, and all."

Hannah cast Maddox a sidelong glance. Making out with him was definitely _not_ part of the deal, fake fiancé or not. "Says who?"

"Well, no one," he admitted as they rounded a corner—he was _following_ her. "But I wouldn't be surprised if we have to at least _kiss_ at some—"

Maddox didn't get to finish his statement—he had to stop to keep from colliding with Hannah, who had come to an abrupt halt in the middle of the hallway. CM Punk was blocking her path; and he didn't look happy.

"Can I talk to you?"

Hannah glared up at Phil. She had half a mind to retort, "I don't know, _can_ you?" but she decided not to be a smart ass for once. "Right now?"

"Yes. In private."

He cast a meaningful glance at Maddox. For just a second, it looked like Brad might tell him off; but then he thought better of it. "All right then," he awkwardly yielded. "I guess I'll talk to you later, Hannah."

Hannah frowned as Maddox retreated. Even though their interactions always left her feeling like she needed a shower, she'd much rather deal with him than Phil right now—or ever, for the matter. "Okay, you have your requested privacy," she said. "What is it?"

Phil looked her dead in the eye. "Did you threaten April last Monday?"

Her stomach lurched hearing him call AJ "April." It seemed so _personal_. "Oh, is that what she told you happened? That's funny, because I just thought I was making friendly conversation."

"About getting the chance to kick her ass? Yeah, that seems real friendly."

"Wait— _what?_ " Hannah couldn't help it—she laughed. This conversation was getting more and more incredulous by the second. "Are you aware of how _ridiculous_ that sounds or have you just gone deaf to reason? I never said _anything_ about kicking her ass."

"It was implied."

"According to who? _April?_ Yeah, she seems like a real _objective_ source."

Phil's expression was so tense it looked like his eyeballs might pop out of his head. Hannah had only ever seen him look at one other person that way—and it was someone he truly hated. Was that all that was left between them now? Hatred?

"Look, Hannah. I'll admit you don't have much reason to like her—"

"I don't have _any_ reason at all to like her, actually," she interrupted. Phil paused to give her a cutting glare before continuing.

"But please, don't take your anger or your animosity or your whatever out on her, okay? None of what happened between us had _anything_ to do with her, so if you feel like throwing thinly veiled threats at someone, by all means, go ahead and throw them at me. But leave her out of it."

Hannah was dumbstruck. _None of what happened between them had anything to do with AJ?_ Was he _serious?_ "I'm sorry, were we in two different relationships? Because I'm pretty sure _you left me for her_."

"Okay, fine. I left you for her," he callously admitted. "But it's not like she's really what came between us. Circumstance did."

"Yeah," Hannah nodded. "Circumstance that _included her_."

Phil didn't have an argument for that. He knew she was all too right.

"You know what, fine," Hannah waved her hands as if wiping a slate clean. She was _done_ with this conversation, even if it meant needlessly admitting defeat. There were more important battles to be won. "If you don't want me to 'take out my animosity' on poor little AJ then I won't. But just so you know, if I _really_ wanted to get back at her I wouldn't resort to making _thinly veiled threats_. I could have fired _you both_ ten times over by now—but I _haven't_. Maybe you should tell her that the next time she whines about something I _said_."

Hannah pushed past him, her head held high. Screw Phil and his 432 plus-day WWE Championship reign. Come Sunday, she'd be rooting for the Rock.


	4. The Doctor is In

_A/N: So I know I said I was gonna update every Monday. But I'm greedy when it comes to reviews/favorites/follows and I think I may get a better response when I post on a Friday vs. a Monday. That being said, please take a second to review at the end. It means a lot to me - and there's a lot going on in this chapter!_

 _Speaking of what's going on in this chapter: to clear up any confusion, while Brad Maddox is no longer a potential romantic interest for Hannah, their kayfabe engagement is still very much a part of the story. He was a central part of the Shield's early storyline, and I try to keep my fics as close to reality as possible :)_

 **Chapter Four**

 _Friday, January 25, 2013  
_ _Sheraton Phoenix Downtown  
_ _Phoenix, Arizona_

Hannah had been going a mile a minute since Monday, and it was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, she didn't have any time to think about Phil or AJ; but on the other hand, she hadn't had any time to sleep, either.

After _RAW_ had wrapped in San Jose, California, Monday night, Hannah had driven the two hours north to Sacramento for the _SmackDown_ taping Tuesday night. Then from Sacramento she'd flown six hours back across the country to Stamford, Connecticut, where she'd spent two hectic days at WWE headquarters. And then she'd boarded another plane in Stamford to fly five hours all the way back to Phoenix, where she'd only just arrived some two hours ago. But while most of the WWE roster and crew were taking advantage of their night off to catch up on some much needed rest and relaxation, Hannah was doing no such thing. It was the eve of _Royal Rumble_ weekend, and she had work to do.

She was sitting alone in the hotel's restaurant, snacking on mozzarella sticks and sipping a glass of merlot, watching YouTube videos of independent women's wrestling matches on her iPad. Just the other day WWE had put out a casting call for models—and Hannah had nearly flipped a table. WWE didn't need any more _models_. What they needed were real women _wrestlers_ , and to that end she'd decided to compile a crop of match highlights from the most talented, eye-catching women she could think of and send them off to Paul and his minions. If no one else in the company was willing to go looking for female talent on the independent scene, Hannah would do it herself.

She had just finished watching Allysin Kay vs. Mia Yim in a Fans Bring the Weapons Death Match—admittedly, not quite the aesthetic WWE promoted for its women's matches, but she couldn't _not_ watch a fight like that—when she felt it: someone was watching her.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. The restaurant was packed, but it felt like she was entirely alone in the room, left at the complete and total mercy of her voyeur. Discreetly she raised her eyes from her iPad; it didn't take long to spot the culprit. Dean Ambrose was sitting at the bar, and he was staring right at her.

Immediately she looked back down, her pulse racing. How long had he been there? How long had he been _watching_ her? A shiver ran down her spine. From the moment she'd met Dean Ambrose, something about him has just _unsettled_ her.

It went back to the very first time she had ever watched him wrestle. Ambrose was cut from the same cloth as hardcore legends the likes of Terry Funk and Mick Foley, pushing his body to its absolute brink—and then pushing it even further. His independent career was a highlight reel of matches that ended with him covered in his own blood, and that was exactly the way he seemed to like it. Hannah figured one of two things: either he couldn't feel pain, or pain was the _only_ thing he could feel. It was hard to say which was worse.

But while Ambrose's matches were absolutely brutal, it was his promos, as arresting as they were, that could be downright deranged. Prior to his Insanity Pro Wrestling World Title defense against Drake Younger in 2009—yet another "Fans Bring the Weapons" match—he had actually said, verbatim, "Believe me when I tell you, I never lie. Believe me when I tell you I would just as soon slice open every one of the fans here tonight, as I'm going to Drake Younger." Normally, Hannah wouldn't have taken his word for it; having grown up in the business she automatically filtered kayfabe from reality. But with Ambrose, sometimes she just couldn't tell—and that was exactly what made him so sinister. On the surface, he scared her because he had proven to be a little bit crazy. But deep down, it was what he might be capable of that disturbed her the most.

She cautioned a glance back up at him. He was still watching her. She could just get up and leave; her bill was already paid. Then again, the last thing she wanted was for him to know just how _uncomfortable_ he made her. So she turned her attention back to searching for videos—until out of the corner of her eye she saw him get up from the bar. The next thing she knew, he was standing right in front of her. She looked up at him, unsure of what to do.

"I didn't mean to stare," he said. "I wasn't sure if it was actually _you_. I almost didn't recognize you."

Hannah's shoulders relaxed; she could see why he would say that. Her long chocolate-colored hair, which usually fell in perfectly undone waves over her shoulders, was pulled up in a messy bun atop her head, and her blue eyes were hidden behind a pair of tortoise shell Ray-Ban eyeglasses, whereas she normally wore contacts. She was even dressed down in an oversized t-shirt, a dark red hoodie, and comfy leggings. No one in WWE was used to seeing her like this.

But just because Ambrose had given a valid reason for staring didn't mean she was willing to let her guard down just yet. "How long have you been here?" she charged.

"Just got here," he answered. "I sat at the bar, ordered a beer, and then I saw you. I haven't even taken a sip yet."

Hannah's eyes shot to his glass. It was full to the brim, foam and all. Maybe she was acting a little paranoid, after all.

"What're you watching?" he asked with a glance at her iPad. Hannah yanked her headphones from her ears, suddenly feeling rude.

"Oh, I'm compiling a bunch of match portfolios to send to Paul," she explained. "Right now I'm working on Allysin Kay. Do you know her?"

He shook his head. "I know _of_ her. I know other people that know her."

"Yeah, that's how it goes. Everyone in this business seems to be connected somehow."

Ambrose's eyes sharpened. He was doing it again: gauging her, dissecting her with his gaze. Hannah fought an overwhelming urge to down the rest of her wine and leave. But then he slid down onto the opposite bench of the booth.

"You can't stop working, can you?" he asked. "I mean, I'm assuming you don't have to do that right now, at 11 o'clock at night. But you are. Why?"

Hannah stared at back at him, shocked by his frankness. She had absolutely no qualms about the fact that she was a workaholic, but no one had ever thought twice about it, let alone bothered to ask her why. And now that someone had, she found herself unable to come up with a good answer. "I don't know," she admitted rather sheepishly. "Even when I'm not on the clock, all I can think about is finding the next big thing, or changing WWE for the better. I can get pretty single-minded about it sometimes. It's kind of pathetic, actually."

She frowned down at the screen of her iPad—it _was_ pathetic. She didn't have much of a life outside WWE. Truthfully, WWE _was_ her life, and she hadn't allowed room for anything—or any _one_ —else in years. Even she and Phil had been brought together because of business. Once upon a time, she'd thought that was what made their relationship so strong. But hindsight was 20/20, and now she wondered if maybe it was why they had been so easy to tear apart.

"It's not pathetic," Ambrose interrupted her thoughts. "It's just what you love to do."

Hannah looked back up at him. His penetrating gaze had softened. The cold calculation had vanished from his blue eyes and been replaced with something else entirely: empathy.

"I'm the exact same way," he shared. "Wrestling made life tolerable. So it's become my entire life."

She offered a halfhearted smile. "I tend to dive into my work when I need a distraction. And I've needed _a lot_ of distractions the last few months." She abruptly stopped, catching herself. She couldn't open up to Dean Ambrose, of all people, about something so private; they were complete strangers. This conversation had to end— _now_.

"But you're right. I should get some sleep." She scrambled out of the booth, nearly dropping her iPad in the process. "Have to get up bright and early for the fan fest tomorrow."

Ever so subtly, Ambrose smirked. He had gotten to her, and he damn well knew it. "All right. Goodnight, boss."

Hannah forced a smile and bolted out of the restaurant. Somehow, in a matter of minutes, Dean Ambrose had gotten inside her head—and she didn't like it one bit.

* * *

 _Saturday, January 26, 2013  
_ _Royal Rumble Fan Fest  
_ _U.S. Airways Center – Phoenix, Arizona_

The inaugural Royal Rumble Fan Fest was in full swing. There were live matches, musical performances, panel discussions, autograph signings, and thousands upon thousands of fans eager to see and do _everything_ —and Hannah was running on nothing but coffee, adrenaline, and the mantra _I love my job_.

She had risen with the sun after a night of restless sleep. Her encounter with Dean Ambrose in the hotel bar had plagued her thoughts, and even now she couldn't stop recounting it in her head. What had made her open up to him like that? She'd tried to pawn it off on the wine and just stop thinking about it, but she couldn't. All she could do was keep busy—just like always.

She was making another coffee run when her iPhone buzzed in her back pocket. She pulled it out with a huff—it was probably Paul ordering her around some more—but was surprised to find a text from one Brad Maddox.

 _Where are you?_

Hannah's brow lowered at the abrupt and unprofessional tone of the text. Who the hell did Maddox think he was? He may be her fake fiancé, but she was still his _actual_ boss. _Why?_ she fired back. His reply came not a minute later.

 _Come backstage near the ring entrance. I have a present for you ;)_

A _present?_ Her nose crinkled in disgust; that winking emoticon was practically leering at her. She didn't know what Maddox could possibly have for her, but it couldn't be anything she actually wanted.

 _What present?_ she returned. Her phone buzzed a few seconds later—and she couldn't help but roll her eyes when she saw his answer.

 _You have to come get it, sweetheart._

He wasn't going to let this go. _Fine_ , she sent back and marched off toward the ring entrance. But if this "present" was anything even remotely suggestive there was going to be an ugly red handprint across Maddox's mug.

She found him a few feet from the Gorilla position, looking dapper as usual in a too-tight shirt, his elbow propped casually atop an electrical box. But he also looked suspiciously empty-handed.

"Well?" she impatiently charged as she approached him. She did _not_ have time for games. "Where's this present?"

Maddox didn't say a word. Instead, he straightened up and glanced around, pulled a tiny velvet box out of his pocket, and bent down on one knee. Hannah froze, mortified. This was _not_ happening.

"Hannah McMahon, will you marry me?"

Loud clapping, whoops, and hollers burst from all around as Hannah's face slowly burned a brighter and brighter shade of red. And then she noticed the ring. "Is that _real?!_ " she shrieked. She snatched the box out of his hand, much to the displeasure of their audience. " _Please_ tell me this isn't real."

Maddox winced. "Will my answer affect yours?"

Hannah rolled her eyes. "Get up," she ordered as she jerked him to his feet. She pulled the ring out of the box to better examine it. Tiny micro-pavé diamonds sparkled from the silver band, and an impressive cushion-cut rock sat in the middle of a gleaming halo setting. This ring _couldn't_ be real. A real ring like this would cost thousands upon thousands of dollars.

"It's a knock-off," Maddox confirmed. "Cubic zirconia. Hunter picked it up at a department store for 90 bucks."

 _Fucking Paul_. It was just like her stupid brother-in-law to pull a stunt like this. Hannah would be sure to send Stephanie roses when she _murdered_ him.

"You could have at least said yes, you know," Maddox moped. "I mean I went all out here."

"I already _did_ say yes," Hannah shot. She shoved the ring back under his nose, but he didn't take it. He was too busy doing his best impression of a sad puppy dog.

"You're not going to wear it? But it's a symbol of our love…"

Hannah couldn't rightly tell if he was being sarcastic or obnoxious, but there was no chance in hell she was putting that ring on her finger, at least not while there weren't cameras rolling. "I'm not wearing it _now_. If I wear it now everyone will see it and fawn over it and think it's real, and _then_ what am I supposed to say?"

"The truth: that we're madly in love and eloping in Vegas on Monday. Just like Stephanie and Triple H."

She nearly gagged. "Was _that_ Hunter's idea, too?"

"No, that was all me," Maddox grinned. "But Hunter _did_ say you have to wear the ring."

Hannah paused, an incredulous look in her eye. He was just pulling her chain. Right? "Um, _what?_ "

"It's kayfabe," he returned matter-of-factly. "There are thousands of fans here. It'll make the big reveal more realistic if you're seen wearing it around. According to Hunter, anyway."

Hannah bit down on her jaw. _Fucking. Paul._ "And when did he say that?"

"Like half an hour ago, when he gave me the ring."

"And did he tell you to propose, too?"

Maddox bobbled his head back and forth. "Not in so many words. But basically, yeah."

Hannah swore she saw red. Paul was a dead man walking—but she was far too busy to deal with it now. "I don't have time for this, and I'm _not_ wearing the ring. I'll wear it for TV, but that's it."

Maddox gave a nonchalant shrug. "All right. But take it up with the boss, not me."

Hannah rolled her eyes again as she stormed off. Oh, she'd take it up with _the boss_ , all right, and she'd shove the ring right up his ass. "I love my job, I love my job…"

* * *

Later that evening the last of the events had finally wrapped, the thousands of fans were filing out, and Hannah was dead on her feet. Stephanie had invited her out for a late dinner, but she had declined—all she wanted was room service, a giant glass of red wine, and a steaming hot bath. Actually, a steaming hot bath _with_ a giant glass of red wine sounded ideal. She knew what her plans were for the rest of the evening.

"Hello, Hannah."

She stopped gathering her things and tried not to audibly groan. There was only one person whose slimy, smug voice that could be. "Paul," she returned with a forced smile. Hannah didn't trust Paul Heyman as far as she could throw him—a fact that had become a lingering point of contention between her and Phil during the last months of their relationship. Of course, now that Heyman was Phil's manager she had _even less_ reason to trust the former ECW promoter.

"Long day?" he asked.

"Yes," she bit. "Do you need something?"

Heyman pushed out his bottom lip and shook his pudgy face. "Oh, no; I just wanted to check in. Are you excited about tomorrow?"

Alarm bells went off in Hannah's brain; she didn't believe for one second that he "just wanted to check in." With Heyman, there was no such thing as small talk—he _always_ had an ulterior motive. But even so, she was far too exhausted to care. "I am excited. A little nervous, but excited."

"Oh, well we all get nervous every now and again," he dismissed. "Honestly, I'd be surprised if you _weren't_ nervous. Especially since…" he trailed off. "Actually, never mind. I shouldn't get into that; it's not my place."

Hannah shot Heyman a sardonic grin as she pulled on her jacket. That bait couldn't have been more obvious if he'd thrown out an actual fishing line. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to urge you to tell me anyway?"

Heyman's lips curled into an ugly grin; the lines around his beady eyes deepened. Paint him green, and he could have passed for the Grinch. "Well, if you _really_ want to know, I'm just surprised you agreed to do it. You know, considering your rather _contentious_ relationship with my good friend CM Punk."

That woke Hannah right up. Suddenly she was hyper-aware—and she could feel her blood beginning to boil. "You're right, Paul. My relationship with Punk _isn't_ your place."

That should have been the end of the conversation, and for a respectful person it would have been. But Heyman didn't have any respect. "Perhaps not. But here's the thing, Hannah: I've known Punk for a very long time. He _trusts_ me. He _tells me_ things, and I've _always_ had his best interests in mind. That being said, I know what it's like to work with someone you can't stand and vice versa, and how _tempting_ it is to use your power to screw them over. Trust me, I've been there myself many a time before. So I just wanted to speak with you, businessman to businesswoman, and make sure that you won't not… _act_ on that temptation."

Hannah's hands balled into tight fists inside her jacket pockets. It was all she could do to keep from slapping the grin right off Heyman's doughy face. Who the _hell_ did he think he was? "Well, let me _assure_ you, Paul," she grit, "you have nothing to worry about. I'll tell you the same thing I told Punk on Monday: if I was planning on using my power to screw him over, I would've done it already." She turned and left as fast as she could, still digging her fingernails into her palms. Now she wanted something stronger than a glass of wine—and a punching bag with Heyman's face on it.


	5. Ready to Rumble

_A/N: I have a nice long update for you all to kick off the holiday weekend! (At least for my fellow American readers ;). ) Lots of Punk and Ambrose in this chapter - plus Hannah's debut! Also, I hope it's not too confusing that I'm using some people's real names vs. their ring names - I realize there's more than one Paul. But as always, thank you bunches to everyone who's reviewed/favorited/followed this little fic. Please drop a review at the end of this chapter and let me know what you think! :)_

 **Chapter Five**

 _Sunday, January 27, 2013  
_ WWE Royal Rumble _  
_ _U.S. Airways Center – Phoenix, Arizona_

A distinct air of euphoria always accompanied the _Royal Rumble_. It was the first major pay-per-view of the year; the kick-off of the road to _WrestleMania_ ; and, of course, the Royal Rumble match was always one of the most thrilling, surprise-filled spectacles of the year. Hannah absolutely loved the _Royal Rumble_. It had been her favorite pay-per-view ever since 1992, when Ric Flair had eliminated Sid Justice to capture the vacant WWE Championship at the fifth annual _Royal Rumble_ in Albany, New York. She'd only been six years old at the time, and she'd nearly cried when Justice had eliminated "Rowdy" Roddy Piper, but Hannah could definitively say that was the night that hooked her; and tonight, nearly 21 years later to the day, she would make her long-awaited return to TV at the very same event. She had to admit: it was all very poetic.

But, at least at the moment, she wasn't _feeling_ very poetic. She was feeling something more akin to _hostile_ , and it was all thanks to one Phil Brooks.

"Hannah, there you are. I have bad news."

She nearly bowled past Paul before he could intercept her; she didn't even notice him until he grabbed ahold of her arm. "Whoa, where's the fire?" he asked.

"I need to talk to—someone," she hesitated. He sent her an odd look, but she waved him off. "Don't worry about it. Do you need something?"

"Yeah, I said I have bad news," he repeated. "Well, it's not 'bad' so much as it's just 'news,' but the point is your debut's been pushed back to tomorrow night."

Hannah wilted. So much for poetry. "What? Why?"

"It just works better that way," he answered with a shrug. "Tonight the lights will go out during the WWE Title match and the Shield will attack the Rock. Tomorrow night on _RAW_ , Vince will conduct a performance review of Paul Heyman. He'll accuse him of being the one behind the attacks and that's when you'll reveal yourself."

"Great," Hannah let out a heavy sigh. She'd actually been looking forward to getting the big reveal over and done with; the anticipation of it all was causing her an undue amount of stress. Now she'd have to endure it for one more day.

"Don't feel bad," Paul assured. "You're not the only one. The Divas Title match was scrapped too."

" _What?_ " Suddenly Hannah forgot all about her axed debut. She knew how excited Kaitlyn had been to defend her championship against Tamina Snuka, and they had just _scrapped_ the match? "Paul, that's not fair! When are you all gonna start giving a shit about the Divas division?"

Paul swatted the air as if to bat her argument away before it could reach his brain. "Hannah, I really don't have time to debate you on this. Just enjoy the show, okay?"

She gave an agitated huff as he continued on down the hall. "Enjoy the show," she muttered lowly to herself, but she pushed Paul's unsavory news to the back of her mind. She had one goal and one goal only at the moment: find Phil.

It wasn't much further to his dressing room. She rapped her knuckles urgently against the door, and when he answered he looked less than thrilled to see her. She'd expected as much; she wasn't exactly happy to see him, either. "We need to talk," she asserted. "Can I come in?"

For a quiet second it seemed like he would deny her. But then he stepped aside and pulled the door open further. It was a smart choice; Hannah would have had no problem yelling at him from the hallway. "Where's AJ?" she asked as she pushed into the room. The last thing she needed was for Spider-Bitch to walk in on this.

"Not here, obviously," Phil bluntly returned. "I'll hazard a guess this isn't about business?"

"No, it's not. It's about how much of a fucking hypocrite you are."

Phil's face instantly screwed up. "What the _fuck_ are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Paul fucking Heyman accosting me on your behalf last night," she shot. "Keeping our issues between us isn't a one-way street, Phil. If you want me to leave AJ out of it then you _sure as hell_ better leave Heyman out of it too."

She paused to take a breath and, more importantly, to give Phil a chance to explain himself. But much to her chagrin, he didn't look any less perplexed. Did he really not know what she was talking about?

"What did he say to you?" he asked.

Hannah crossed her arms in front of her chest. "He wanted to make sure that I wouldn't _give in to the temptation_ to use my position to screw over you and AJ," she explained. "Oh, and he also said that you _tell him things_. What exactly have you _told_ him?"

Silence grew between them. They were mirror images of each other, standing resolute on either side of the room: arms crossed, eyes hard and fixed. But whereas Hannah was enraged, Phil was just trying to make sense of the situation at hand. "I've complained to Heyman in confidence about a few things," he eventually admitted. "But that's a little different from you using your position to get revenge."

Hannah opened her mouth to protest—but he wasn't done yet. "But I promise you I didn't ask him to talk to you. I'm sorry he did that; it wasn't his place."

Her comeback died in her throat. She was stunned. The absolute last thing she'd expected to get out of this confrontation was an apology. "I didn't think you asked him to talk to me," she said. "I know you handle your business yourself. I just," she paused, trying to find the right words. "I just don't like the idea of Heyman knowing details about our relationship."

Phil's eyes went stern when she said that. "I haven't told anyone _any_ details about our relationship, Hannah. Not even April. It's in the past and it's no one else's business."

All the air suddenly flew out of Hannah's lungs; he might as well have punched her in the stomach. Of course their relationship was in the past, but hearing so straight from Phil's mouth was concrete proof that he was over and done with her. "Right," she nodded. "Of course it isn't anyone else's business."

He stepped closer. "I—"

"No, it's fine," she cut him off. "We're fine. Good luck tonight." Hannah couldn't leave fast enough. Phil may be over her, but she doubted more and more that she was over him.

She all but sprinted to the nearest exit, bursting out onto the loading dock of the arena and into the arid desert air, fighting back hot, angry tears. She absolutely _refused_ to cry; she had sworn months ago that she wouldn't shed one more tear over Phil.

"Want one?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin—she'd thought she was alone out here. She wiped her eyes and glanced over her shoulder; Dean Ambrose held out a pack of cigarettes to her. "No," she declined with a grimace. "I don't smoke."

He shrugged and pulled one out for himself. "You look like you could use one, that's for damn sure."

Hannah glowered at him. She moved toward the edge of the platform and sat down with her back to him, hoping to make it perfectly clear that she wanted to be left alone. But either Ambrose was too thick to get the hint or he just didn't care; he sat down right next to her. His foot bumped against hers as their legs dangled over the edge. Hannah shifted further to the right.

"You really shouldn't do that," she said as she swatted away a cloud of cigarette smoke. "Don't you know how bad those things are for you?"

"Nope. I've lived under a rock my whole life, haven't you heard?"

Hannah's frown deepened into a scowl. If he was going to be a smartass then she would just ignore him.

But Ambrose was incorrigible. "What's bothering you, boss?"

She sent him a tight-lipped grin. "You mean other than you right now?"

"Now, Hannah," he returned with a smirk, "you should know that sass only encourages me." His eyes burned into her as he put the cigarette to his lips and took another drag. Hannah looked away.

"I'm just stressed out," she threw out. Maybe if she answered with a half-truth he would leave her alone. "They pushed back my debut to tomorrow night. I was ready to get it over and done with; I'm nervous enough as it is."

"Welcome to the life of a WWE Superstar," he returned. "Now you know what it feels like to be one of us."

"Yeah, well it's no wonder wrestlers die young," she muttered. "I feel like the last week alone has taken ten years off my life."

"You're preaching to the choir, kid," Ambrose said as he blew another cloud of smoke into the air. "But how about you tell me what's _actually_ bothering you?"

Hannah's body grew hot. "There's nothing else to say," she bluffed, but Ambrose didn't buy it. He let out a curt laugh.

"Listen, sweetheart, I may be a little unhinged—and I know you think I am—but don't play me for a fool. You ran out here looking like you were about to ball your pretty little eyes out, and I seriously doubt you're that upset over a _script change_."

Hannah clenched her teeth. Ambrose had crossed a line, and she wasn't going to indulge him. Not this time. "Well, maybe you're right. But the reason I came out here isn't any of your business."

He took a final draw off his cigarette. His gaze never left hers. "All right," he conceded. "You don't have to tell me. But trust me: whoever it was that _did_ make you come out here looking like that—he's a moron." He flicked the butt onto the concrete below, unfinished, and stood and stalked back into the arena without another word. And Hannah watched him the entire way, dumbfounded.

* * *

 _Monday, January 28, 2013  
_ WWE Monday Night RAW  
 _Thomas & Mack Center – Las Vegas, Nevada_

CM Punk was no longer the WWE Champion. His reign had been cut at a record 434 days, the longest reign of the modern era. In the end, the Shield's ambush attack had done nothing to save him; the Rock had gotten the pin after Vince McMahon had restarted the match, and now the WWE had a new champion: the People's Champion.

Punk was irate, of course. And that night at the top of _RAW_ he had stormed the ring, shouting and screaming that _he_ was the true People's Champion, that Vince had restarted the match illegally, that he was the victim of a "Phoenix Screwjob." As far as he was concerned, this was his 435th day as WWE Champion because he had been unrightfully _robbed_.

But, as it turned out, Punk stood to lose a lot more than just his precious title. Tonight, he could very well lose his manager too.

It was the end of the show. Vince and Paul Heyman stood alone in the ring. Vince was conducting a performance review of Heyman, and he had bad news: video evidence had surfaced connecting him to the Shield.

The chairman was as straightforward as he could be. "So, Mr. Heyman, let me ask you a question. Have you ever had—or currently have—the Shield and/or Brad Maddox under contract?"

The thousands of fans packed into the stands of the Thomas & Mack Center jeered. Heyman nervously adjusted his tie. He was already sweating bullets. "I wanna thank you for this opportunity," he started in earnest, "to come out here and look you in the eye, and settle this once and for all. Because the answer to your question—and you have every reason in the world to ask me that question—and the answer to that question is: _no_ , I have never had anything to do with Brad Maddox, nor the Shield."

For the most part, the crowd was silent and attentive; when Paul Heyman spoke, people listened. But more than just a few voiced their disbelief at his answer—and, unfortunately for Heyman, Vince seemed to agree. "Mr. Heyman, let me ask you a question. Have you ever in your life—have you ever _lied?_ "

That certainly wasn't the follow-up question Heyman had wanted. He rubbed his pudgy, sausage-fingered hand over his face and back down over his greasy, slick ponytail. The boss had him backed into a corner.

"You know that's not a difficult question," Vince prodded. Heyman jumped to answer.

"You know a long time ago I remember, in the Madison Square Garden dressing room I heard your father say the phrase, 'Adversity defines a man's character in his darkest hour.' And faced with the adversity of the fact that I have a feeling I know where this is going, I will tell you: I have lied every day of my stinking life, because _I am a promoter_ and that's what promoters do. We lie to survive _tonight_ , or simply to get to tomorrow. Whatever answer I've had to give in my life to survive on that particular evening just so I could wake up the next day _alive_ and with a _business_ or with a _career_ or with a _job_ ; I have lied through my _teeth_ , I have lied swearing to _God_ , I have lied on the souls of my _parents_ and I have _lied, lied, lied_ and I don't regret it because that's what it took for me to _survive_.

"But I will tell you, looking you in the eye right now and _knowing_ that my career is on the line; I swear to you on everything that is holy, Vincent Kennedy McMahon, I've lied every day of my life but I swear to you I am _not lying now_."

Heyman's bulging walrus eyes stared up at Vince in despair, all but begging for mercy. He should have known better. Vince McMahon was noted for many things, but his mercy was not one of them.

"So you're an honorable man?" the chairman charged.

Heyman expelled an anxious breath as he scrambled for the right words to spew. "I don't know if I'm an honorable man! But I'm _trying!_ I'm trying to become an honorable man! And maybe I can _learn_ from you on how to be an honorable man! I can't tell you I've been a saint; I've never been a saint in my life! But I—I wanna be here, and if it takes being an honorable man to be here then dammit that's what I'll be!"

Heyman was growing frantic. His head was on the chopping block and he had gone into survival mode. And as he had admitted not two minutes before, that meant he was _lying_ —and Vince and everyone else knew it.

The chairman held his hand up in front of Heyman's sweat-ridden face. "Let's get a good look at this honorable face. Can we get a close up please of this honorable face?" Slowly the camera zoomed in on Heyman's ugly mug. "We're getting there," Vince taunted. "Closer. Closer." The camera finally stopped, far too close for comfort, and Vince asked the crowd, "Is this an honorable face?"

" _NO!_ " thousands of voices proclaimed in unison.

"Is this an honest man?" Vince went on.

" _NO!_ "

It certainly wasn't looking good for Punk's manager; but Vince wasn't quite done torturing him just yet. "Mr. Heyman, I want to show you some footage now, and after we show you the footage I'd like to get your comments, if you don't mind. Now chances are, I think you'll recognize it when you see it. Let's roll the footage—"

"WAIT!" Heyman suddenly cried into his microphone, flailing his free arm in protest. Vince had finally pushed him to his breaking point—but true to his character, he was ready to pin the blame on anyone but himself. "I can tell you who's responsible for this, Mr. McMahon! I can tell you who's responsible for Brad Maddox and the Shield! I know I look like the guilty party here but I've been set up! _None_ of this was my idea, not any of it! I was _manipulated_ , Mr. McMahon! I was a pawn! I swear to you, none of this was my doing!"

The fans grew rowdy at Heyman's bombshell revelation. If he truly wasn't the one responsible for the actions of the Shield and Brad Maddox then they wanted to know who _was_ —and so did Vince.

"Well then, Mr. Heyman, if you're not the guilty party then tell me who _is_."

The atmosphere suddenly shifted. Heyman stood up tall and straight, his expression turning from desperate and frantic to hard and resolute. He brought the microphone to his lips. He could barely keep from grinning. "It's your daughter. _Hannah_ McMahon."

The arena erupted with a mixture of shock and confusion. Hannah McMahon! _Hannah_ McMahon? Some remembered the youngest McMahon child, others didn't. But one thing they all shared in that moment was absolute astonishment.

"I swear to you on my _life_ that's the truth, Mr. McMahon!" Heyman insisted. "Brad Maddox and the Shield work for Hannah!"

For a few long, tense moments, Vince said nothing. His rage was building like heat inside a pressure cooker: his face was turning redder than the _RAW_ logo, and any second now he was liable to explode. How dare this _scum_ , this two-timing swindler accuse his youngest child, his precious little princess, of such scheming, _horrible_ deceit. True or not, one thing was for certain: Paul Heyman was a dead man. "Paul Heyman, you lying sack of—"

"Hold it!"

A female voice suddenly echoed throughout the arena. Everyone turned frantically in their seats, searching up and down and all around for the source—and then Hannah McMahon emerged from underneath the TitanTron, a smirk on her lips. It was the first time she'd appeared in front of the WWE Universe in more than thirteen years.

"Hold it right there, _pops_ ," she said. She strutted down the ramp entrance, scanning the sea of faces in the stands. They were quiet. They wanted to hear what she had to say. "I guess I'm busted, thanks to _Paul_ here. You really wet the bed, didn't you, Paul?"

She climbed the steps to the ring, but stopped just short of entering. She raised a demanding brow at Heyman; it didn't take long for him to get the hint. He trudged over to the ropes and begrudgingly held them open for her, and Hannah ducked into the squared circle. She approached her father, head held high and proud, and looked him dead in the eye. "As pathetic as he is, for once in his meager little life Heyman is telling the honest-to-God truth. Brad Maddox and the Shield work for _me_."

The fans booed. Vince's jaw slacked, his rage turning to distraught. He didn't want to believe his own daughter was the one behind all the havoc; he thought he'd escaped the rebellious ways of his children long ago. "What? Hannah, _why?_ "

"I'll tell you why!" Heyman eagerly jumped in; this was his chance to throw Hannah under the bus for good. "Your darling daughter and Brad Maddox are _engaged_ , Mr. McMahon! She just wanted to make him somebody and soiled the integrity of your good business in the process!"

Hannah fixed Heyman with a glare that could kill. That was certainly _not_ how she'd wanted her father to find out about her engagement.

" _What?_ " Vince boomed. The veracity of his tone made Hannah feel like she was a child again, but she stood her ground.

"Fine, I admit it. Brad and I are engaged and I _did_ want to get his name out there," she quickly admitted. "But it was never my intention to _soil your good business_. How could I when you've already done that yourself, _Dad_?"

A low whistle of shock rippled throughout the arena. But no one was quite as shocked as Vince. " _What?_ " he repeated. His voice was venomous, vicious; but Hannah was on a roll. There was no chance in hell she was backing down.

"You heard me. You don't care about _wrestling_ , Dad. You haven't in _years_. The only thing you care about is profit—money. Vince McMahon is all about the Benjamins and nothing else.

"Don't get me wrong: I understand _why_ you're all about the money. After all, you are running a—what do you call it? _Sports-entertainment_ business? You _need_ to make a profit in order to afford all these theatrics. But where you fail, dear father, is that you _can't see past_ the money. You ignore talent, you ignore hard work, and you ignore those who _deserve_ recognition in favor of those who can make you a quick buck. You don't care about who's dedicated to this business! All you care about at the end of the day is who's the biggest cash cow, a fact that you proved loud and clear last night when you _screwed_ CM Punk.

"CM Punk is a genius on the _mike_ , he's a genius in the _ring_ , he's here _every single night_ and you _know_ he can make you money. You have the _proof_. But you're too damn _greedy_. You don't care that you've screwed the greatest WWE champion you've had in _years_ because all that talks to you is _money_. The Rock and Ryback _never_ should have been given those title shots. The Rock isn't a _wrestler_. Ryback isn't anywhere _near_ CM Punk's caliber. But you just don't give a damn. _That's_ why I created the Shield, to battle your _idiocy_. To rectify all those who _deserve_ to be in this ring every single night, those who _deserve_ to be in the main event at WrestleMania—not just those who _you_ want."

Hannah stared her father down, all too proud of her vicious dismantling of his business ethics, and the momentum in the entire arena suddenly shifted: the fans were _cheering_ her. Whether they were delightfully surprised by her skill on the mike, whether they agreed with the message she was preaching, or whether it was a little bit of both, they were actually _cheering_ her. Hannah McMahon had officially arrived.

Vince glared down his nose at his daughter. His façade was stoic as a statue, but Hannah knew her father. There was an unbridled rage bubbling just below the surface, and it would only be so long before it burst forth like a broken levee.

Heyman, on the other hand, had spotted the perfect opportunity to clear his _own_ name. "You see, Mr. McMahon! She admits to it all! I'm an innocent!"

"Oh cut the crap, Heyman!" Hannah interrupted. She was thoroughly _done_ with him. "You and Punk are the ones who came complaining to me in the first place! You _asked_ for a way to throw Punk's matches!"

Heyman was aghast. "I did no such thing! Mr. McMahon, I did no such thing! Your daughter is a liar!"

" _Shut up!_ " Vince boomed. His face was burning crimson with anger. "Both of you just shut the hell up!"

The fans roared. Heyman gulped. Hannah glared.

"At this point I don't want to hear what either one of you have to say! Hannah, I don't care about your _idiotic_ vendetta, and I sure as hell don't care whether or not you're innocent, Mr. Heyman! You've _both_ already sealed your fate!"

Hannah's face fell as she watched her father's mouth twist into a vengeful grin. _No_. She joined Heyman in pleading with the chairman as the crowd's excitement grew, anticipating the punch line. Everyone knew exactly what was about to happen.

"Hannah, Mr. Heyman, _both_ of you are—"

A familiar opening riff suddenly ripped throughout the arena, one that the WWE Universe hadn't heard since last August. The fans came positively unglued. Brock Lesnar was back.

Vince, Heyman, and Hannah all watched in gaping, silent shock as the beast of a man advanced down the ramp. Hannah didn't know why Lesnar was there or what—or _who_ —he had come for, but she stood petrified as he circled the ring. Maybe if she didn't move he wouldn't see her.

Lesnar climbed between the ropes and entered the ring. He eyed Vince like a predator would its prey. Heyman tried to talk him down, but he was hearing none of it; he pointed a commanding finger for his manager to stay put in the corner and out of his way. Hannah still hadn't moved an inch.

Lesnar stepped toe-to-toe and nose-to-nose with Vince. Neither of them said a word as they stared each other down with cold, calculating eyes. Slowly, a smirk crossed Lesnar's lips.

"If I were you," Vince warned, "I wouldn't do something I would regret later on."

Lesnar stepped back. He was weighing the chairman's words. Again Heyman tried to intervene, and again Lesnar resigned him to the corner of the ring—and then his eyes landed on Hannah.

There was no doubt he could feel her fear. He was daring her to say something, daring her to try to stop him, silently mocking her; they both knew there wasn't a damn thing she could do. She copied Heyman and shrunk back into a turnbuckle.

Lesnar's attention turned back to Vince. He thought for a second longer—and then he attacked. He picked Vince up like a child, draping him over his shoulders, and threw him to the mat in a devastating F-5.

Heyman dropped to his knees at the body of the fallen chairman, overwhelmed by the sheer horror of what Lesnar had done. "No, no! Stop! No more! No more!" he cried, but Lesnar paid him no mind. Now that Vince was disposed of, he turned his steely gaze on his daughter.

Hannah was positively frozen. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn't move. The beast was advancing on her, moving ever closer with each menacing step, and all she could do was shrink further and further back into the turnbuckle as her eyes grew wider and wider with fear. The fans were raucous, calling for her destruction like a bloodthirsty horde. Oh, how easily they had turned on her.

It was too late to run now. Lesnar loomed over her like a titan, and Hannah cowered helplessly further down the ring post, resigned to her fate—

But then her saviors arrived. A dark figure, nearly as large as Lesnar and equally as menacing, darted protectively in front of her: Roman Reigns. The next thing Hannah knew Seth Rollins pulled her out of the ring to safety. She clung to him like her life depended on it.

Reigns and Lesnar held each other's gaze for a few long, tense seconds, testing each other in a quiet display of aggression, but the former knew this wasn't the time or place. Slowly he backed out of the ring, but his eyes never once left the beast as he joined his colleagues on the ramp. Hannah was in shock, pale as a ghost, hiding behind Rollins and Ambrose both. Lesnar had been far too close to giving her an F-5 to match her father's. She was practically shaking as _RAW_ went off the air.

The cat was out of the bag, the beast was back—and all hell had broken loose.


	6. Birds of a Feather

_A/N: It's Friday, and that means another update! There's one word to describe this chapter: foreshadowing :) As always, thank you for the follows/favorites/reviews, and please do take a second to drop a review at the end! I really like hearing what you all think._

 **Chapter Six**

 _Wednesday, January 30, 2013  
_ _Shane McMahon's house  
_ _New York, New York_

"RAW results: Move over, Vince—there's a new McMahon in town!"

"RAW redux (January 28, 2013): Hello Hannah!"

"Twitter reaction to Hannah McMahon's debut"

"Backstage praise for Hannah McMahon's RAW promo"

"Hannah McMahon and the Shield: 3 Exciting Directions the Story Could Go"

Hannah grew more and more dizzied with every new headline she read. From WWE's official website all the way down to the dirt sheets and blogs, she had become the talk of the digital town. Who was she? Where had she been all these years? What role would she play as the power behind the Shield? The Internet Wrestling Community had left no question unasked and no speculation unexplored. It was overwhelming, to say the least; but it was also unbelievably thrilling.

"Hannah, you've been reading articles about yourself all night," Shane noted as she swiped her finger across the screen of her ever-present iPad. "I thought you _didn't_ want to be famous."

"Please, Shane. I've been reading them since _yesterday morning_ ," she corrected. Shane just shook his head in quiet amusement.

The very first thing Hannah had done after her debut was call her brother. The relationship she had with him was very different from the one she had with her sister; despite being sixteen years her senior, Shane didn't treat her like a child the way Stephanie did. Growing up, he'd been a mentor, confidant, and friend—and a patient buffer between her and Stephanie. Needless to say, she'd been absolutely devastated when he left WWE in 2009, but she still used him as a sounding board every chance she could get. In her opinion, Shane had a much better understanding of the business than Stephanie; all Stephanie cared about was keeping up appearances.

"Brad Maddox attacked at _SmackDown_ taping," Hannah read aloud a headline from WWE's website. The article included exclusive backstage footage of the titular attack: Brock Lesnar had F-5'd Maddox right onto the hood of a car. She winced as she watched; in all honesty, it looked pretty brutal. "I guess he couldn't kick my ass so he went after my _fiancé_ instead," she surmised.

Shane let out a loud laugh. "Whose idea was it for you and Maddox to be engaged? Please tell me it was Dad's."

Hannah sent him a glare. "While dear old Dad is still trying his best to marry me off, it wasn't his idea. It was Paul's."

"Really?" he seemed shocked to hear that. "That's surprising. It seems like a completely arbitrary detail."

"Thank you!" Hannah proclaimed; she knew there was a reason she missed having Shane around. "It _is_ completely arbitrary. Can you please tell Paul that? Maybe he'll listen to you."

Shane sent her a look. "Paul wouldn't listen to me if his life depended on it," he returned. "But if it was his idea, maybe it's not completely arbitrary. Or Dad could've put him up to it, I guess. Although I highly doubt he'd so easily move on from trying to shack you up with Sheamus."

Hannah ignored him; a realization had dawned her. Maybe this fake engagement wasn't Paul's doing at all. In fact, the whole thing absolutely stank of _Stephanie_. "No, you know what? It's Stephanie. She just wants to set me up to have an embarrassing _RAW_ wedding of my own. That way she can use it to make her big return and upstage me."

"Oh come on," Shane protested. "Why do you always think Stephanie's trying to upstage you?"

"Are you kidding me?" Hannah couldn't believe him. Had her brother suffered a bout of amnesia since he'd left the family business? "I know you've been gone a while, Shane, but nothing's changed. Stephanie hates when _anyone_ does anything better than her, but she _especially_ hates when _I_ do something better than her. You know she hasn't bothered to say _one word_ to me about my debut, not even 'good job'? I wouldn't be surprised if she makes a full-time return to TV just so she can reduce my role to next to nothing."

"There's room for both of you on TV," Shane reasoned. But Hannah didn't buy it.

"Was there room for both of you backstage?"

Shane's jaw tensed. He knew she had a point there. "You're right," he agreed. "Stephanie hates being upstaged, she hates losing, she hates when anyone steals her spotlight. But wasn't this whole thing Dad's idea? I'm not talking about the engagement; I'm talking about bringing you onto TV. If Dad wants you on TV, he won't let Stephanie write you off. And furthermore, Stephanie isn't even in charge of Creative anymore—Paul is. And he's _always_ vouched for you."

Hannah frowned; as usual, Shane was right. No matter what Stephanie wanted, Vince McMahon _always_ had the final word—and Vince McMahon wanted her as the leader of the Shield. And as for Paul, he'd had her back since day one. They'd always shared a similar vision for WWE, and he had vocally endorsed her promotion to Director of Talent Relations last fall even though she'd been up against other candidates with years' more experience. Truthfully, despite that she wanted to murder him sometimes, Hannah couldn't ask for a better business partner.

Then again, Paul was also Stephanie's husband—and Hannah couldn't imagine the absolute hellfire Stephanie would rain down on her if her husband ever took her little sister's side over hers.

"Let's go back to reading about how awesome my debut was," she said, and Shane just shook his head again.

* * *

 _Monday, February 4, 2013  
_ WWE Monday Night RAW  
 _Philips Arena – Atlanta, Georgia_

Hannah had always loved Atlanta. She loved the culture, she loved the people, she loved the atmosphere—and the entire city was positively steeped in pro wrestling history. The ATL stood alongside Chicago, Philadelphia, and New York as one of the top wrestling towns in the country, and Hannah was a mess of nerves and excitement at the thought of performing there. After all, she might be a McMahon, but she was still a rookie in the eyes of the WWE Universe. She only hoped the hot Atlanta crowd would accept her.

The storyline was very promo-heavy that night, and the attention would shift away from CM Punk and Paul Heyman's purported connection to Hannah, Brad Maddox, and the Shield. Punk had already vehemently denied Hannah's claim that they had all worked in collusion; for now, he would focus the majority of his attention on his rematch against the Rock at _Elimination Chamber_. As for the Shield, their attention would turn to three of WWE's biggest players: Ryback, Sheamus, and the one and only John Cena.

It was that last bit that made Hannah so nervous. Tonight, Cena would call her out and confront her treachery—and if she didn't hold her own on the mike, he would make her look like an absolute fool.

"You killed it last week, just like I said you would. And you'll kill it tonight, just like I know you will," Colby confidently asserted as he and Hannah sat together in catering. "Cena doesn't stand a chance."

Hannah smirked across the table at him. "Aw. It sounds like someone's a Hannah McMahon mark."

"Hell yeah I'm a Hannah McMahon mark!" he unabashedly proclaimed. "The entire locker room is a bunch of Hannah McMahon marks. You know no one could shut up about how sick your promo was last Monday, right?"

Hannah bit her lip; she wondered if that included Ambrose. And then she wondered why she wondered about Ambrose at all. Who cared if he cared? She certainly didn't.

"What's wrong?" Colby asked. She quickly shook her head.

"Nothing. But hey—Ambrose is like your best friend, right?"

He quirked a suspicious eyebrow at her. "One of them, yeah. Why?"

Hannah shifted in her seat—Colby obviously suspected something was up—but did her best to play it cool. "I don't know. He just—he's been very forward with me recently."

"Forward how?"

"I don't know," she repeated, frustrated. She didn't know how to say what she wanted to say without coming off completely neurotic. "The last few times we've talked have just been _weird_. Like he was a psychologist trying to diagnose me, or something." She thought back to their conversation at the hotel bar in Phoenix; she'd opened up to him the way a patient would to their shrink. A chill ran down her spine—it _bothered_ her.

"Well, Jon _is_ kind of a mad psychologist," Colby admitted; it took Hannah off-guard hearing him called by his actual name. "But I know what you mean. He does that sometimes."

"Is he actually crazy?" The question blurted out of her mouth before she could stop it. She flushed, embarrassed; but Colby smirked.

"He's probably been hit upside the head one too many times, but he's harmless. He just doesn't give a damn about what he puts himself through in the ring, and I think that's off-putting to a lot of people. But _outside_ the ring, he's a good guy. Rough as hell around the edges, but good."

Hannah stared back at Colby in red-faced silence. Now she just felt silly. Ambrose _did_ go way too hard in the ring, but he was probably just misunderstood; and she knew all too well how that felt.

* * *

John Cena stood in the middle of the ring. As always, the reaction he garnered from the WWE Universe was vocal and wholly divided: some loved him, some loathed him. But Cena paid their cheers and jeers no mind; he had business to attend.

"You know _right_ now, there's a television show called _Monday Night RAW_. And on that show is a guy named John Cena. The guy who _won_ the Royal Rumble match, is _going_ to _WrestleMania_ , and will _again_ be the WWE Champion.

"But first, _this_ guy thinks the Shield needs to be stopped, and stopped tonight. And what's that old saying? If you cut the head off the whole snake dies? So I'm gonna start with the head, the person who professed last week to the entire world to be the one behind the Shield all along. Hannah McMahon, why don't you come out here so we can have a little chat?"

Cena paced the ring like a caged animal; he was practically frothing at the mouth, and he was _impatient_. "I'll wait here all night—"

"Is that a _threat_ , John?" Hannah emerged from underneath the TitanTron to a chorus of angry and immediate boos. She ignored all of them—her business was with Cena. "Are you threatening to _cut off my head?_ Wait—are you calling me a _snake?_ "

Cena leaned purposefully over the ropes. "If the shoe fits, sweetheart."

"Snakes don't wear shoes, John," she parried. "Your parents clearly never took you to the zoo as a child."

"Cut the crap, Hannah!" he suddenly boomed. "I want to know why you sicced your pack of dogs on _John Cena!_ Last week, in front of Vince McMahon and the entire world, you stood right here and claimed to use the Shield to battle injustice, to stand up for all the hardworking men and women in the back who deserve to be in this ring every single night! Well let me tell you something, Hannah: I am here _every single night!_ I bust my ass day in and day out for the WWE Universe and I _won_ the Royal Rumble match and _earned_ my title shot fair and square! So tell me how the Shield was so _justified_ attacking me last week!"

The fans were stirred into frenzy by Cena's passionate tirade; but Hannah wasn't moved one bit. Actually, she found his outburst rather amusing—he had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

"John, John, John. You've really got it all wrong. First of all, you're assuming that I'm some sort of mob boss—the _head of the snake_ , as you put it—ordering hits on people for the Shield to carry out. You're assuming that I tell the Shield what to do." She shook her head in slow disapproval. "I don't tell the Shield what to do, John. Maybe I did in the beginning, at _Hell in a Cell_ and _Survivor Series_ , but they've grown into their own sophisticated, working unit. I just happen to be in alliance with them.

"Second of all, why in the world do you think _I_ would be even the least bit concerned about _you_ and your WWE title shot after what happened to _me_ last week? I have problems of my own to worry about! I was nearly _attacked_ by Brock Lesnar! My father had to have reconstructive hip surgery because _Brock Lesnar attacked him_! My fiancé is laid up in bed bruised and barely able to move because Brock Lesnar attacked _him_ at SmackDown! I have much bigger issues to deal with than _John Cena!_ "

Cena's gaze hardened. He held no sympathy for her. "It's your own damn fault that your father and fiancé were attacked by Brock Lesnar," he said. "If I were Brad Maddox I'd leave your ass."

The fans let out a collective cheer; Hannah's icy eyes narrowed in contempt. Had she been in the ring she would have slapped Cena right across his righteous face. No matter, though: she had better weapons at her disposal. "It's _not_ my fault." she seethed. "And it's not my fault that the Shield kicked _your_ ass last week, either. Like I said, I didn't tell them to attack you. The Shield acts of their own accord—and I must say, they're not very happy with you at the moment…"

She trailed off, and the crowd began to stir—Seth Rollins, Dean Ambrose, and Roman Reigns had emerged and were stalking down the arena steps toward the ring. There was a muffled thud as Cena threw his mike aside. He crouched down, readying himself for the impending attack. This was going to be a fight.

Rollins, Ambrose, and Reigns surrounded the ring, but they didn't enter. Not yet. They sized Cena up, silently strategizing—but before anyone could make a move, Ryback's theme music blasted throughout the arena. The Shield collectively turned toward the ramp, anticipating his arrival; but they were deceived. Ryback was coming through the crowd, just as they had minutes earlier.

Then Sheamus's theme hit. Soon enough the Celtic Warrior was running through the stands himself.

The Shield hadn't planned to face all three of their opponents tonight; they hadn't expected anyone to come to Cena's aid. With Sheamus and Ryback eagerly waiting just outside the barricades, they had to make a decision—and they decided to retreat. Tonight was not the night for this altercation.

They hopped off the ring apron and started back up the ramp—but they found themselves blockaded by a wall of angry wrestlers who had emerged from backstage. There was nowhere for them to go. Nowhere, that is, except back to the ring.

The tables had completely turned. Rollins, Ambrose, and Reigns were the prey; Cena, Ryback, and Sheamus were the hunters. The Shield was surrounded, and flight was no longer an option. They had to fight.

Cena took Reigns, Ryback took Rollins, and Sheamus went after Ambrose. Chaos erupted as the six men brawled in the corners of the ring, but it didn't last long. Outgunned, Reigns jumped through the ropes to the floor; Ambrose and Rollins were quick to follow. They hopped the barricades and fled up the arena steps—but Cena wasn't done with them quite yet.

"I got somethin' else to tell ya," he announced into a microphone. "You got a fight comin'. Yeah, there's a fight comin', and it's gonna be February 17th at the _Elimination Chamber_! Let me tell you about that fight you got comin'! You got a six-man tag team match! Oh yeah, that's right! Finally, the Shield is gonna be in a fair fight! 'Cause on February 17th the Shield faces Sheamus, Ryback, and me— _John Cena_."

The fans erupted at the news; but Rollins, Ambrose, and Reigns weren't in the least bit intimidated or dismayed. They were just as eager as the three men in the ring. They _wanted_ to fight.

"So now," Cena went on, "you need to get gone and tell your little friend Hannah McMahon, because February 17th, in New Orleans, _justice gets served!_ "

Cena tossed the mike aside as his theme blasted through the speakers and out over the excited crowd. There was going to be a brawl at _Elimination Chamber_ , and they were ready for it.


	7. What's the Harm in a Little Fun?

_A/N: All right, dear readers; we've made it past the exposition. This is when the fun stuff kicks off ;) I have a feeling you'll like this chapter - so please, please review!_

 **Chapter Seven**

 _Wednesday, February 6, 2013  
_ _Ybor City  
_ _Tampa, Florida_

Hannah had not planned on still being in Florida. She was supposed to be back in Connecticut, working away at WWE Headquarters—but after _SmackDown_ had concluded taping in Jacksonville, Tuesday night, Colby had lobbied for her to spend the rest of the week in Tampa. Even Paul, her own boss, had encouraged her to take some time off; apparently he thought she was in serious need of some rest and relaxation. ("And besides," he had argued, "you can check up on everyone at NXT. Isn't that your favorite thing to do?") At first Hannah hadn't been so sure; but now that she was sitting under the warmth of the Floridian sun enjoying authentic Latin cuisine and a perfectly balanced sweet-and-sour margarita, she had to admit: Paul was right.

Even better, she was enjoying it with one of her closest friends: Chris Spradlin, known in most wrestling circles as Chris Hero, but he had adopted the moniker "Kassius Ohno" in WWE.

"Thanks for letting me crash with you last night," she said for what must have been the millionth time. "I'll get a hotel for the rest of the week so I'm not invading your personal space."

"You're not invading anything," Chris returned. "And you're not getting a hotel room, either. It's been way too long since I've seen you."

Hannah returned his grin; it had been too long. Like Colby, she had become friends with Chris when she'd scouted him from Ring of Honor and signed him to a developmental contract. But, unlike Colby, her friendship with Chris had deepened thanks to their mutual bond with one CM Punk. Hannah had confided in Chris things she hadn't told _anyone_ else about her relationship with Phil; truthfully, it was rather terrifying how much he knew about her deepest, most personal feelings. But she trusted Chris with her life—and she didn't throw that around lightly.

"So how've you been, superstar?" he asked. "You've been killing it on TV. I didn't realize you were such a bad ass."

"I may have learned a thing or two the past 27 years," she smirked. "But thanks; I'm actually having a lot of fun. I just wish you were in the Shield."

"You and me both," he agreed. Phil had petitioned Paul to include Chris in the Shield before they had made their main roster debut last November, but in the end he hadn't made the cut. Phil hadn't been happy about it—and neither had Hannah. "I'll make it up there soon enough. Hey, maybe you could be my manager."

"I'm sure Phil would just _love_ that," Hannah quipped. She hadn't planned to bring him up, but she just couldn't help it. Chris was the only person she felt comfortable discussing the "Phil problem" with—and she'd had _a lot_ on her mind lately.

"You know he has nothing but good things to say about you, right?"

Hannah tensed. Had she heard him correctly? "What?"

Chris put down his drink and leaned forward. Whatever he was about to say, it was important. "He texted me the other day," he started. "The thing with you and the Shield came up and I mentioned how surprised I was by how good you are. And you know what he said to me? He said he wasn't surprised at all. He said he'd known you had it in you all along. In fact, he said he wished you'd signed on to do TV that summer he almost left WWE. I'd never even considered that before."

Hannah shrunk down into her seat. This wasn't the first time she'd heard about Phil's desire for her to appear on TV during the "Summer of Punk," as it was now known. He'd expressed it to her himself, back when their romance was budding and new. She'd considered it, but ultimately shot the idea down; things were already tense enough between her father and Phil backstage, and she was worried that getting involved onscreen would only exacerbate the situation. Was Phil still angry that she'd refused?

"I just thought you should know," Chris interrupted her thoughts. "But forget about Phil, and the Shield, and everything else. Big E is having a party tonight and you're going."

Hannah blinked. That had been an abrupt and unexpected change of subject. "I am?"

"Yeah. It'll be fun."

"Wait." All of a sudden she realized _exactly_ what he'd said, like there was a two-second delay between her ears and her brain. "Who's gonna be at this party? The NXT roster? Chris," she laughed, "it'd be super weird for me to go to a party with you guys."

"What? No it wouldn't."

"Yeah, it would," she argued. "I hired half of you. It's an HR violation waiting to happen." Hannah's words left a bad taste in her mouth. When had she become such a stickler for rules? Judging by the perplexed look on his face, Chris was wondering the exact same thing.

" _Relax_. Everyone in NXT loves you, you know that," he reasoned. "Besides, you may have hired half of us, but you're still _one_ of us. Hell, you're _younger_ than me. What's the harm in having a little fun?"

If there was one thing Hannah absolutely hated, it was being told to _relax_. But Chris was right; she couldn't remember the last time she'd done anything fun, and what harm could really come from going to a little house party? Besides—her father had probably done way worse back in the day. "All right," she grinned. "I guess there's no harm in having a little fun."

A broad smile broke out over Chris's face. "That's what I'm talking about," he said, and they clinked their glasses in toast. If nothing else, this party would certainly be interesting.

* * *

 _Big E's house  
_ _Tampa, Florida_

Hannah and Chris arrived fashionably late to Big E's party. Chris had reasoned that if they got there about forty-five minutes after it started everyone would already be too buzzed to care that _Hannah McMahon_ was there. She hoped he was right—but she'd taken a shot of Jose Cuervo before they left, just in case.

There were just enough people packed into the two-bedroom Mediterranean-style house so that it wouldn't get dull, but not enough to start a ruckus. One group hovered around a large flat screen TV playing video games, and another had started a match of beer pong in between the living room and kitchen. Hannah recognized most of the faces: Bo Dallas, Xavier Woods, Adrian Neville, Emma, Bayley. Maybe this wouldn't be so weird, after all.

"Oh my God, Hannah!" Suddenly a blur of black hair and pale limbs latched onto her: Paige. Hannah had thought too soon—this was _completely_ weird.

"What are you doing here?" Paige was quite obviously inebriated. Which was problematic, because while she was more than old enough to drink back home in her native England, she wasn't yet old enough to drink in the U.S. It put Hannah in an awkward position: the professional in her was practically required to reprimand her, but she honestly didn't want to spoil her fun.

But Paige was far too excited to wait for her to come up with a response. "I'm _so stoked_ that you're working with the Shield. I've been hoping for _years_ you would get involved on TV. You're my absolute _favorite_ McMahon."

She wobbled closer; Hannah could smell the whiskey in her solo cup. The sooner she got out of there and pretended this encounter never happened, the better. "Oh, well that's nice of you to say. Hey, where's the bathroom?"

"Oh, it's down the hall to the right!" she pointed, and Hannah took off without so much as a "Thank you." She rounded the corner past Charlotte taking a selfie with Sasha Banks—and ran smack into the chest of someone much larger than her. She thought it was Chris at first; but she quickly realized it definitely was _not_ him.

"Jon! I mean Dean." She stumbled back; he caught her elbow. Hannah didn't know what was more embarrassing: that she'd run right into him or that she'd called him by his actual name. But her mind went impossibly blank when she saw the mischievous glint in his blue eyes. He couldn't possibly be more satisfied by how nervous he knew he made her—and he _definitely_ knew it.

He leaned in, and placed his lips against her ear. They were so close that Hannah could feel the muscle of his torso through the fabric of his shirt. "You can call me Jon," he whispered. " _Hannah_."

He studied her for a second longer, and with a final crooked smirk he left her standing alone in the hallway, breathless. Her skin positively burned where his touch had lingered. No—her _entire body_ was flushed.

"I need a drink."

* * *

The party had thinned, the alcohol was nearly gone, and Hannah was drunk. Evidently, she and Chris made a near-unbeatable beer pong team: they'd gone on a four-game winning streak before finally being unseated by Big E and Bo Dallas with one cup left each. Hannah couldn't remember the last time she'd played beer pong—and the copious amounts of Bud Light were definitely _not_ agreeing with her. On second thought, maybe it was the shot of Fireball Chris had goaded her into taking that was making her stomach churn. Either way, she didn't feel so hot.

She stumbled toward the patio and wrenched open the sliding glass door. Maybe some fresh air would help. The salty smell of the late-night breeze overwhelmed her senses—as did the pungent stench of cigarette smoke.

"Hannah. Wasn't expecting to see you here."

She clumsily slid the door closed behind her. She was marginally familiar with Corey Graves—he had been wrestling dark matches prior to _RAW_ and _SmackDown_ the last few weeks—but outside of what she'd seen in the ring, she really didn't know much about him. Maybe it was the tattoos that covered his body, or maybe it was the alcohol coursing through hers, but in that moment she was intrigued to learn more.

She slinked over and sat next to him, close enough to smell his cologne. It was intoxicating. "Here on the patio or here at this party?" she asked.

Graves smirked. "Both." The end of his cigarette burned orange as he took a drag. Hannah watched, transfixed, as the smoke left his lips and floated out into the dark. She _hated_ cigarettes, but he was handsome, in an unconventional sort of way. She liked unconventional.

"You smoke?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. I just wanted some fresh air."

"Sorry to spoil it for you," he quipped. "So was this like a public debut for you and Chris or something?"

Just like that, the dreamy trance he'd had over her snapped. "Sorry?"

"You and Chris," he repeated. "Was this your way of letting everyone know you're together?"

Hannah's jaw dropped. " _What?_ No. Chris? In there?" she gaped as she pointed back toward the house. "Chris and I are _not_ together. What made you think we were together?"

"Because why the hell else would you be at an NXT house party?" he charged. "You're _Hannah McMahon_. I'm sure you have way better things to do with your night."

"Trust me, if Chris and I were together we _would_ be doing better things with our night." Her cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment once she realized what she'd implied; she hadn't meant to be so suggestive. She bit her lip, thoughts wandering. It'd been an achingly long time since she'd had sex…

"Really." Graves's eyes locked with hers. He finished off the rest of his cigarette, stubbed it out, and threw the butt into an empty beer bottle. He moved closer. "I wouldn't mind having something better to do with my night."

Hannah grinned. His cologne smelled _so good_. "Is that so?"

"It is," he said. Their lips were inches from each other, the two of them suspended in anticipation, and then it happened—Hannah heaved.

"Oh God." She clamped a hand over her mouth. The sour taste of vomit crept up her throat, but she swallowed it back down. She absolutely refused to puke in front of the guy she had been seconds away from _kissing_.

"You okay?" Graves asked. He seemed genuinely concerned, but Hannah was mortified.

"I don't feel so good," she said, and without another word she turned and ran back inside. But instead of heading to the bathroom, she ran for the front door. She wobbled down the front walk, but when she made it to the bottom of the driveway she couldn't hold it back any longer: she fell over onto a patch of grass and puked. Her head was swimming. She felt _disgusting_.

"Whoa, boss. You okay?"

Hannah closed her eyes tight at the sound of that familiar gravelly voice. Of all the people in the world to find her like this, why did it have to be _Ambrose?_ "Where the hell did you come from?"

"I saw you run out here," he explained. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Well I'm _fine_ ," she snapped. "You can go now."

"No can do," he returned. He held out a hand to her, but Hannah didn't budge. "Come on, you don't need to wallow on the ground next to a pile of your own vomit."

Hannah let out a pathetic whimper, but she accepted his outstretched hand and allowed him to help her to her feet. It felt like she was standing on the deck of a rocking ship. "Well this is embarrassing," she slurred.

"It happens to the best of us," Ambrose reasoned. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"I just puked in Big E's front yard," she returned.

"Well lucky for you it's supposed to rain tonight, so all evidence should be washed away by the morning."

Hannah rolled her eyes at his smirk; she was in no mood for his smarminess. She turned and staggered off down the sidewalk, doing her absolute best to walk in a straight line—but Ambrose followed after her.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"And how are you getting there?"

"Uber."

"Have you called one?"

Hannah stopped; she'd forgotten that little detail. She pulled her iPhone out of her jacket pocket, but when she pushed the "home" button nothing happened. She tried again, and again, and again, but the screen remained black and unresponsive. Her phone was dead.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." She almost wanted to laugh. At this point, the night couldn't possibly get any worse.

"What?" Ambrose asked.

"It's dead."

He shrugged. "I'll drive you. I was just about to leave, anyway."

Hannah wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling cold and exposed. She didn't want Ambrose to drive her home. But her phone was dead, she didn't know where Chris was, and she refused to go back into the house. He was her only option.

"Come on," he nodded for her to follow. His big black SUV was parked a few yards away on the street, and he held the door open for her as she climbed inside. The tan leather seats smelled new; it was a good thing she'd already gotten sick.

"You're staying at Chris's, right?" Ambrose asked as he buckled himself in. Hannah's head dropped back against the headrest.

"Yes, but I don't have a key," she realized. Ambrose paused, his hand on the ignition.

"I can go back and get his key from him."

"No," she shot. "I just want to leave. Drop me off at a fucking hotel, I don't care at this point."

"I'm not dropping you off at a hotel," he dismissed as he started the car. "We'll go to my place." She sent him a look; he shrugged again. "Do you have a better idea, princess?"

She scowled deeply at him, but said nothing. No, unfortunately she did not have a better idea.

"Please don't puke in my car," he said as he started the engine. Hannah ignored him, and laid her head against the window. She must have passed out, because the next thing she knew Ambrose was helping her out of the car.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

"Yes I can walk," she spat. She stumbled ahead of him toward what she thought was the entrance; he took her by the arm and steered her in the correct direction. They entered a wide set of doors and crossed through a marble-floored lobby onto an elevator. Hannah's stomach lurched as it started upward.

"Almost there," Ambrose assured. The elevator doors opened with a _ding_ , and he took her by the hand and led her down a long carpeted hallway. They arrived just in time: as soon as he put his key in the door, Hannah felt sick.

"Bathroom," she muttered through her hand, and Ambrose hurried her inside. She barely made it to the toilet before she hurled.

Tears welled in her eyes as the acrid vomit burned her throat and nose. She heaved until there was nothing left in her stomach, and then spit until the taste was out of her mouth. She felt disgusting and pathetic, and she wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

"Feel better?" Ambrose asked. Hannah realized he was holding back her hair. Had he been doing that the whole time? But she nodded her head; the world was still whirling, but at least she didn't feel sick anymore.

"All right, come on," he helped her back to her feet. "Let's get you cleaned up." He wrapped an arm around her and ushered her further into the apartment, into his bedroom. "Here, sit down," he ordered and sat her down on the bed. "I'll get you some water." He disappeared into his bathroom, and when he returned he had a glass of water, a bottle of mouthwash, and a trashcan. "You can rinse your mouth out and spit in here if you want."

Hannah looked up at him, her eyes heavy. "Did I get any on my shirt?"

Ambrose grinned. "No, you didn't."

"Oh," she nodded. "Well that's good. What're you doing?"

"Taking off your shoes," he answered as he pulled her tan wedge bootie off her left foot. "You don't want to sleep in your clothes, do you?"

"No," she frowned. "I guess not."

"I'll find you something to sleep in," he said, and as he turned to rummage through his dresser Hannah pulled off her jacket and top. She didn't care that he was still in the room; she was far too inebriated to care. But when she stood up to peel off her jeans, she discovered she was far too inebriated for that, too. She would've fallen flat on her face if Ambrose hadn't turned around and caught her.

"Whoa there. You okay?"

Hannah's breath caught in her throat. She was pressed flush against him, in nothing but her bra and panties and with her jeans around her ankles. Her entire body flushed. "Yeah," she swallowed. "I'm fine."

"Let's put this on." He maneuvered to help place a t-shirt over her head, and Hannah quickly pulled it on. It was an old oversized Jon Moxley shirt. For some reason, it made her blush even deeper.

He guided her back over to the bed, untangled her jeans from her feet, and helped her under the covers. "You stay in here. I'll sleep on the couch."

Hannah looked up at him. He hovered over her, his arms planted on either side of her shoulders. It would've been an ideal moment for a kiss if she hadn't just puked her guts out. "Thank you," she mumbled.

"No problem, boss. Get some sleep."

He turned to leave, but just as he was about to shut the door Hannah had a thought. "Ambrose." He stopped in the doorway and turned. "If you tell anyone about this, I'll murder you."

She half expected him to come back with some witty retort—but he just grinned. "Hannah, I told you to call me Jon," he said. "Goodnight."

He shut the door, and Hannah smiled to herself. Maybe tonight hadn't turned out so bad, after all.


	8. Rumor Has It

_A/N: First, I want to thank everyone who always leaves reviews on my chapters; they don't go overlooked and I appreciate it more than you know. However, I'd be lying if I didn't say I was disappointed that the previous update only received four reviews; it didn't really inspire much motivation to post this chapter today. I hate it when writers hold updates hostage pending reviews, so I won't do that. That being said, if you like this story enough to read it every week, please take a second to review at the end - it means a lot to me._

 _Alright, on to the chapter._

 **Chapter Eight**

 _Thursday, February 7, 2013  
_ _Dean Ambrose's apartment  
_ _Tampa, Florida_

It felt like a tiny man with an ice pick was hammering away at Hannah's skull just behind her eyes. Her mouth was dry and uncomfortable, but the mere thought of water made her nauseous. She rolled over and buried herself further under the covers, praying for the relief of sleep—but then she remembered. _Everything_ about the night before came flooding back into memory. Her head pounded harder.

Something rustled from across the room. She froze, listening as a deer would for its hunter. It happened again. Cautiously, she peered over the edge of the blanket—and when she spotted the source of the noise she immediately ducked back underneath the safety of the covers. It was Jon, and he was wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer-briefs.

Her heart sped up, anxious. Had he heard her? What should she do? Pretend to be asleep? Why was he half naked?

She pulled back the covers just enough to spy with one eye. He was looking through his dresser drawer and his dark blond hair was wet; he had obviously just taken a shower. Hannah relaxed, but her pulse didn't slow. She was studying the muscles in his back, in his arms. He had _very_ nice arms.

"See something you like?"

Her eyes snapped shut and blood rushed to her cheeks. Maybe if she pretended to be asleep he would go away.

"I know you're awake, Hannah."

 _Shit._ She opened her eyes again. He faced her now, smirking as he pulled on a pair of jeans. She may have been caught, but she wasn't coming out from underneath the comforter until the red had drained from her face.

"How long have you been watching me?" he asked. "Did you see me naked? Should I feel violated?"

Her cheeks burned even hotter. "Well, now we're even. What time is it?"

"Just after 10." He turned to search through his closet. "How's the hangover?"

Hannah's only response was an uncomfortable groan. On a scale of one to living dead she felt like seasick dog. Right now, all she wanted was sleep—even if it meant staying in _his_ bed.

"Chris is coming to get you," Jon announced. "I told him I'd drop you off, but he feels like a dick about last night so I guess he wants to make it up to you."

Hannah's eyes shot open; she'd _completely_ forgotten about Chris. "He didn't do anything wrong," she returned. "Wait—how'd he know I was with you?"

"I texted him last night. I didn't want him thinking you'd been kidnapped, or something."

Hannah let out another groan. She was still embarrassed about her behavior the night before, and now she felt doubly terrible that Jon had been forced to play babysitter. "I'm really sorry about last night—"

"There's no need to apologize," he interrupted. "I'd rather know you were safe than risk something happening to you." His eyes fell on her, and she burrowed further down into the folds of his comforter. Why did she always feel so vulnerable around him? But it wasn't nerves that caused her stomach to flutter this time; it was something else entirely.

"Up and at 'em, boss," he said as he finished getting dressed. "Chris'll be here soon." He left, shutting the door for her privacy. And, all of sudden, Hannah wished she didn't have to go.

* * *

 _Monday, February 11, 2013  
_ Monday Night RAW  
 _Bridgestone Arena – Nashville, Tennessee_

Hannah should have realized she was walking into a minefield Monday night. Rumor spread faster through the WWE locker room than herpes through a private Catholic high school, and rumor had it that she'd gotten blackout drunk at an NXT house party last week. Hannah couldn't have been more embarrassed as she walked through the backstage corridors of the arena, passing groups of Supertsars and Divas that were probably most definitely talking about her. There was a reason she'd kept a low profile in high school, and this was exactly it. For now, all she could do was keep her head up and pray to God that the rumor wouldn't generate enough talk to reach the ears of her father; who knows what he would do if he heard.

"Dude, what _happened_ at that party?" Colby asked. "I just want to hear the truth from you before I hear anything else."

Hannah glanced nervously at the closed door. They were in the privacy of an unused dressing room, but that didn't mean someone wouldn't burst in at exactly the wrong moment. "What have you heard?"

"I've heard that you went to a party at Big E's place and got wasted playing beer pong. Is there something going on with you and Chris?"

"What?" She hadn't realized _that_ was part of the rumor. "No! God, can't I go to a party with a guy without everyone thinking we're fucking?"

Colby held up his hands in defense. "Hey, that's why I asked."

"I know, I'm sorry," she sighed. "That night was an absolute train wreck. The last thing I need is rumors spreading about what happened."

"Well, tell me what happened," he repeated. "I'll set the record straight."

Hannah frowned. She appreciated that Colby had her back, but there wasn't much to set straight. "Aside from Chris, it sounds like everything you've heard is pretty much true," she admitted. "I _did_ go to a party at Big E's place and I _did_ get wasted playing beer pong. I also almost kissed Corey Graves."

Colby's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "What?"

"And then I ran away and puked in the front yard and spent the night at Jon's."

"Jon who?"

"Jon Good—Dean Ambrose."

" _What?_ " Colby's eyes grew wide with excitement. "Hannah, I didn't hear _any_ of that. You spent the night with Jon?"

"I spent the night _at_ _his place_ , not _with_ _him_ ," she firmly corrected. The last thing she needed was people thinking she was sleeping with Chris and Jon _both_. "I was drunk and belligerent and he was just looking out for me. He didn't say anything to you about it?"

Colby shook his head. "No. I asked him about the party and he told me you weren't any drunker than some of the other people there, but he didn't mention anything about you staying at his place. Wait—you almost kissed _Corey Graves?_ "

Hannah rolled her eyes. Why was everyone so fixated on who she may or may not be hooking up with? "Yes. But that stays between you and me and I swear to God if you tell _anyone_ I'll give your girlfriend an actual reason to hate me."

Colby mimicked zipping up his lips and throwing away the key. "Yes, ma'am," he said, and as far as Hannah was concerned that was the end of the conversation. But she could tell by the look on his face: he had one more question.

" _What?_ "

"Well," he picked at the label on his water bottle, unsure if he should really ask. "Did anything happen at Jon's?"

Immediately, Hannah shook her head. "No," she answered; but it wasn't nearly as emphatic as before. Something _had_ happened at Jon's—she just wasn't sure what.

* * *

"Babe, are you sure you're feeling okay? Do you want something to drink? Maybe you should sit down." Hannah fret over her fiancé with visible worry. Omnipresent boos emanated from the arena, but she ignored them. It was the first time Brad Maddox had appeared since Brock Lesnar had ambushed him in a San Diego parking lot nearly two weeks ago, attacking him with the very same maneuver that had put Hannah's father in the hospital. Sure, Vince was a lot older and frailer than Brad, but she was concerned for his well being nonetheless. He had been F-5'd onto the hood of a car, for goodness' sake.

"Hannah, Hannah," Brad did his best to appease her. "I'm fine. Relax."

She expelled an anxious breath; that was easier said than done. "I know, I'm sorry. But I'm _freaked out_ , Brad. What was Vickie thinking re-signing that _monster_ Brock Lesnar? He can't be controlled! You saw what he did—Paul Heyman couldn't even control him! I'm scared for my safety! He almost F-5'd _me_ out there last week. Can you imagine if that had happened to _me?_ "

"Hey, come on." Brad took her chin between his fingers and looked her straight in the eye. "You know I would never let anything like that happen to you."

The sentiment didn't do much to comfort Hannah. But she nodded nonetheless. "I know."

"Good." He placed a tender kiss on her lips, and she finally relaxed—but then he abruptly switched gears. "Hey, I wanted to ask you something. Now that I'm back, I was hoping that _maybe_ you could pull some of those McMahon power-strings of yours and get me a match at _Elimination Chamber_."

Hannah blinked. Was he _serious?_ _That's_ what he was worried about right now, with _Brock Lesnar_ running around? "You're kidding me right? Please tell me you're _kidding_ me."

Brad opened his mouth—but she quickly and firmly silenced him. "I have more important things to deal with right now, Brad. Maybe that F-5 rattled your brain so I'll give you a pass, but I was almost _fired_ two weeks ago. Remember? The only reason I wasn't was because Lesnar showed up—and God only knows what my father will do once he's out of the hospital.

" _Furthermore_ , for all I know I could be next on Lesnar's hit list. He could be lurking out there right now just _waiting_ to F-5 me! Oh, and to top it _all_ off I have to worry about the Shield going up against John Cena, Ryback, and that pasty ginger Sheamus at _Elimination Chamber_. And let me remind you in case you've forgotten: if the Shield loses that match, there will be repercussions for _both_ of us."

Brad pinched the bridge of his nose. This wasn't exactly how he'd hoped this conversation would go. "Hannah, I know you have a lot on your plate right now. I do," he said. "But I'm your _fiancé._ You _promised_ you would get me a contract and, I hate to say it, but you haven't delivered, babe."

Hannah grew deadly quiet. Brad had absolutely no right to complain, and she had no problem telling him _exactly_ that. " _I_ haven't delivered? Whose fault is it that you don't have a contract, Brad? Oh, that's right—it's _yours_. How many opportunities have you already been given? Let's see: my father gave you a chance to win a contract if you could beat Ryback, and you lost. Then Vickie gave you another chance if you could beat Randy Orton, and you lost. And _then_ Booker T gave you not one, not two, but _three_ opportunities and you blew every. Single. One. It's no one's fault but your own that you don't have a contract, Brad."

The muscles tensed in Brad's face as he bit down on his jaw. He should have known better than to challenge a McMahon—but he was incorrigible. "I just need one more chance, Hannah. I _know_ I can—"

He stopped mid-sentence. Someone had invited himself into the room: CM Punk. Hannah's stony glare shifted from her fiancé to the former WWE Champion. "Um, can I help you? What makes you think you can just waltz in here? This is our _private_ dressing room."

Punk folded his arms across his chest. He quite obviously didn't give a damn about their privacy. "Oh, I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something _private?_ That's news to me; I always figured Brad here was about as anatomically equipped as a Ken doll."

The fans hissed at the insult. Brad didn't dignify him with a response. Hannah seethed. Punk smirked. "But don't worry; I didn't come in here to discuss what's in your little boyfriend's pants," he went on. "I came in here to discuss Paul Heyman."

Hannah rolled her eyes. She'd be happy if she never heard the name _Paul Heyman_ again. "You mean that coward you call a manager? You should've just let him quit tonight; he's done for after what Lesnar did to my father."

"Yeah well I didn't let him quit," Punk returned. "I didn't let him quit because I owe my career to Paul Heyman, and it was my duty as his friend to keep him from walking away from _his_ career because of someone as selfish and spoon-fed as _you_."

Hannah's jaw dropped. What was with these men tonight? Had they completely forgotten with whom they were speaking? " _Selfish?_ " she questioned. "You're calling _me_ selfish? Tell me: Do you remember the summer of 2011? Do you remember the 'pipe bomb' you dropped in Las Vegas? _I'm_ the only reason you even had the opportunity to speak your mind that night, Punk. I gave you a microphone. I helped you incite change from the inside out. I stuck up for you then, and that's exactly what I'm doing now. I contracted the Shield to help _you_ , and you have the nerve to come in here and call me _selfish_? How dare you."

Punk stepped closer, his eyes hard. For just a second, Hannah forgot they were on camera. "Get over yourself, Hannah. You're not helping me. You and your dumb fiancé and the Shield aren't out to help anyone but yourselves, and you're stepping on Paul and me to do it. And by the way: I _never asked_ for your help. I don't _need_ your help, or anyone else's. I'm the _Best in the World._ But the mindless people in the WWE Universe and at WWE Headquarters are too moronic to see through your lies, and Paul was nearly pushed to quit tonight because of it. You should be ashamed of yourself."

A smug smirk curled onto Hannah's lips. Punk was _full of it_. "You don't need any help? Then please tell me why Heyman asked Vince to add a stipulation to your match at _Elimination Chamber_ that the Rock can lose the WWE title via count out or disqualification? Afraid you can't beat him via pinfall?"

"Paul asked for that stipulation because I was robbed," Punk shot back. "The Rock is a thief and that stipulation is his due punishment. Even Vince has the sense to see that."

Hannah's face fell. Her hand itched; what she wouldn't give to _slap_ him right now.

"Stop spreading your lies about Paul and me, Hannah. And keep your pack of lap dogs out of my match on Sunday." With a final stern glare, Punk exited the room. Hannah glowered after him. She didn't hear when the producer said, "Cut."

"Hannah," Maddox nudged her shoulder as the film crew began filing out of the room. "You can relax now. The scene's over."

Hannah didn't respond; she was too busy trying to collect herself. That had been the very first segment she'd had to film with Phil, and while it had been much easier than she'd anticipated, she hadn't expected it to feel so _real_. If she didn't know any better, she'd think they'd just had an _actual_ argument instead of a scripted one. She recalled the conversation she'd had with Chris in Tampa the previous week, when he'd told her about how Phil had expressed regret that she'd refused to manage him back in 2011. _Maybe he really does think I'm selfish_.

"Hey, you okay?"

Maddox touched her arm, and she resurfaced from her thoughts. "Yeah, I'm fine," she dismissed. Maddox didn't look so sure; but before he could press her any further the door opened again. It was Phil.

"Hey. Can we talk?"

Hannah stared back at him. His olive eyes had softened, and the anger that had been so palpable only seconds before was gone completely. It threw her for a complete loop. "Yeah, sure," she agreed and looked up at Maddox—but he already knew what was coming.

"I'll wait outside," he said. He walked out, and the door shut behind him with a _click_.

"What's up?" she asked. "Is something wrong?" She imagined that was the only reason Phil would want to talk. But he shook his head.

"No, at least I don't think there is. But, earlier today I heard Corey Graves bragging about how you threw yourself at him at some party in Tampa last week? I didn't buy it for a second, but I thought you deserved to know."

A massive lump grew in Hannah's throat. She'd threatened Colby not to say a word of the almost-kiss with Graves—but she hadn't accounted for Graves himself. "What exactly was he saying?"

Phil's brow furrowed. "That you were drunk at this party and trying to go home with him, but he turned you down because you got sick."

Hannah's stomach lurched just like it had the night of the party. "That's _not_ what happened," she adamantly returned, but Phil waved a hand at her.

"I'll take care of it," he said.

She blinked up at him, dumbfounded. "What?"

"I'll take care of it," he repeated. But Hannah still didn't understand.

"Why?" she asked. "Why do you care what Corey Graves says about me?"

"Because it's not true."

"So?" she challenged. "It's a dumb rumor, and I'm more than capable of handling it myself. I don't need you to come to my rescue."

"Hannah, come on," he started with a sigh. "I know things aren't what they used to be between us, but that doesn't mean I'm just gonna sit back and let Graves or anyone else spread shit rumors about you. Believe it or not, I still care about you."

Hannah froze. All these months, all the nights she'd spent alone since Phil had left, she'd hoped and dreamed that he would come running back to her and say those very words, and they'd kiss and make love and all would be forgiven. But now that he'd actually said them, they felt completely hollow. But she wasn't sad about it—she was angry.

She stepped closer, and looked him right in the eye. "That's great you feel that way, Phil, it really is. But to quote the _Best in the World_ : I don't need your help to quash a dumb rumor. And not only do I not need it—I don't _want_ it."

She pushed past him and out the door. Screw Phil and his white horse. If he was suddenly trying to redeem himself _now_ after all he'd done to her, she sure as hell wasn't going to give him the pleasure.


	9. Eight Seconds

_A/N: Dean is WWE World Heavyweight Champion! I'm super excited about it and he totally deserves it, but I'd be lying if I didn't say I'm a little conflicted about the whole situation; Seth has stolen my fangirl heart since the Shield broke up :X_

 _Anyway, THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED THE LAST CHAPTER. I really, really appreciate it :) Actually, some of the reviews compelled me to tweak some things about this chapter - just goes to show the power of feedback. That being said, I decided to post a few days early as I'm going out of town Friday and I'm SUPER excited for you all to read this (very long) chapter. If the ending of this one doesn't compel you to review, I don't know what will :P Enjoy!_

 **Chapter Nine**

 _Saturday, February 16, 2013  
_ _Hyatt Regency New Orleans  
_ _New Orleans, Louisiana_

Hannah was an expert at the art of avoidance. If she didn't want to deal with something (or some _one_ ), she'd immerse herself in something else and _poof!_ The problem was gone. Back in high school and college she'd pour all her time and energy into volleyball or her studies, but these days the "something else" was work. She'd sequester herself away with her laptop and a giant cup of coffee—or a giant glass of wine, depending—and relentlessly scour the Internet for match footage and upcoming independent showcases; and with the way she was going now, she'd find the next Ric Flair or Trish Stratus for avoiding the rumors swirling around her and Corey Graves.

As soon as she'd stormed out on Phil on Monday, Hannah had confronted Graves and told him to shut his dumb fucking mouth or else, albeit not in so many words. But it was a futile effort: the rumor had mutated beyond containment, and their tête-à-tête had only worked to fan the flames of speculation even more. It made her physically sick to admit it, but perhaps she shouldn't have been so quick to dismiss Phil's offer to intervene. He may be a grade A jerk but he was a respected veteran in the locker room—a threat from him would have carried a far different tone than hers.

But Hannah absolutely refused to crawl back to him for help now. She'd take her pride and hole herself up in her hotel room until her immature employees found something else to gossip about—she gave it three days, tops.

She pulled her key card out of her bag, but before she could slide it into the electronic lock the adjacent room door opened and someone stepped out into the hall. Hannah's stomach did a flip-flop. It was Jon.

"Well hey there, neighbor," the corner of his mouth quirked up in his usual smirk. "Isn't this perfect timing."

She scrunched up her nose at him. "Perfect timing for _what?_ "

He pointed his thumb down the hall, back toward the elevators. "Aren't you coming out with us? Colby texted you, didn't he?"

"Oh," her shoulders slumped. "Yeah, he texted me. But I'm not going."

"What? Why not?"

"You're kidding, right?" She shot him an incredulous look over her shoulder as her door opened with a _beep_. "You of all people should know _why not_. The last time I went out drinking _you_ ended up having to babysit Drunk Hannah, remember?"

"Yeah, but I didn't mind. I kinda liked Drunk Hannah, actually."

Hannah's cheeks burned at his roguish grin. If he kept looking at her like that he might just change her mind. "Well, like I said—I'm not going," she repeated, more to convince herself than him. "Half the locker room already thinks I'm a slutty lush. I don't need to give them anything else to gossip about."

"Oh come on," Jon dismissed. "Don't let that get to you. No one actually believes you tried to hook up with Corey Graves."

That was news to her. "They don't?"

He paused. "Well, some people do because you dated Punk and he and Graves both have that tatted-up asshole thing going on, but I would say a solid seventy percent think it's total bullshit. Actually, maybe it's more like sixty-three…"

"Goodnight, Jon." Hannah had heard enough. She tried to close the door on him, but he used his arm as a stopper. She glared up at him. " _What?_ "

"Well, what're you gonna do instead? Re-watch every Ring of Honor pay-per-view from the last year?"

" _No_ ," she shot. And then more sheepishly, "I'm gonna watch EVOLVE."

Jon grinned. "That would've been my second guess."

Hannah rolled her eyes. She _hated_ being so predictable.

"Come on," he pressed. "Why sit all alone in your hotel room when you could be out drinking on Bourbon Street with us?"

"Because I _want_ to be alone," she snapped—and then immediately felt like a bitch for it. "I'm sorry," she breathed. " I just really could use some time to myself. It's been a long week."

Jon eyed her for a long second, as if he wasn't entirely sure he believed her. But, finally, he relented. "All right, I get it." He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "But if you decide you've had enough alone time, you know how to reach me."

Hannah's stomach fluttered, and suddenly she realized how awfully close they were standing. She took a nervous step back—but then a thought occurred to her. "Hey, about the other day. Colby said he asked you about what happened in Tampa. Why you didn't say anything to him about me staying the night at your place?"

"Because you asked me not to," he returned matter-of-factly. "Well actually you threatened to murder me, but even so. I wouldn't have said anything anyway. It's none of his business."

She nodded. "Well, thank you. For not saying anything."

"You really don't need to thank me, Hannah. I just did what was right."

"Well I am," she scowled. "So get over it."

The corner of Jon's mouth turned up in a smirk. "Fine—you're welcome. And if Drunk Hannah ever needs a caretaker again, you know who to call."

Hannah felt herself starting to blush again. She needed to end this conversation, and quick. "Goodnight, Jon."

"Goodnight, boss," he echoed. She shut the door, her heart still thumping.

* * *

 _Sunday, February 17, 2013  
_ WWE Elimination Chamber  
 _New Orleans Arena – New Orleans, Louisiana_

"I think the message that's being sent to the Shield is: what're you gonna do when the odds are even?"

Hannah glared down the length of the announce table at Jerry "The King" Lawler. She'd come out to a chorus of boos to sit ringside for the Shield's match against Ryback, Sheamus, and John Cena, and she sure as hell wasn't going to allow some washed up has-been like Lawler badmouth her guys. "The _odds_ are irrelevant, Jerry. The Shield is an unstoppable force. It could be any combination of Superstars past _or_ present in that ring right now, and the Shield would come out victorious."

"I don't know about that," King returned. "You want to put your money where your mouth is, Hannah?"

"Ha!" she let out a laugh. " _You_ want to bet against _me?_ I'm wearing more money on my ring finger right now than you have in your entire bank account."

"You mean that ugly thing Maddox bought you? That thing's probably about as real as his referee license."

"Can we pay attention to the match, please?" Michael Cole interrupted their bickering; but Hannah just used it to build on her insults.

"Yes, _please_. Do your job and call the match, King."

"I was before you interrupted!"

"Hey, show some respect!" JBL interjected. "That's Vince McMahon's daughter you're talking to!"

"Yeah—and daddy almost fired her!" King retorted—but suddenly all their attention was drawn to the ring. Sheamus had Ambrose hung up on the ropes, and the thousands of fans packed into the New Orleans Arena counted in unison as the Irishman delivered forearm club after forearm club to this chest. After three, he unzipped the protective vest Ambrose was wearing, pulled up his shirt and started over again. He didn't stop until Ambrose's chest was angry and red. Desperate to get away, Ambrose fell through the ropes and collapsed onto the floor.

Hannah watched with a stony façade as Sheamus jumped out and tossed him back inside the ring. But before he could roll in after him, Reigns stared him down, silently threatening action. The distraction worked—when Sheamus climbed back up onto the ring apron, Ambrose kicked him square in the temple and sent him falling to the floor.

"That's what I'm talking about, the cohesion of a team," JBL lauded as Ambrose tagged in Reigns.

"This is the most cohesive team in the history of the WWE," Hannah added.

"Well, they've certainly worked well together," Cole agreed. "Whether it's been fairly or not is up for debate—and Reigns nearly beheaded Sheamus with that clothesline!"

"What did I tell you?" Hannah smugly returned. " _Unstoppable_ _force_."

Reigns put the boots to Sheamus inside the ring, and the Shield held him defenseless in their corner. He tagged in Ambrose; Rollins tagged himself in; and one after the other they dropkicked the Celtic Warrior against the ropes. Rollins went for the cover, but Sheamus quickly kicked out. Rollins responded by wrestling him down into a chokehold. He pulled him up and back into the corner where his teammates were waiting like vultures.

"Sheamus is where he does not want to be, and that is in the wrong corner," Cole stated as Rollins continued to beat him down. It wasn't long before he tagged Ambrose back in. "Dean Ambrose now," Cole went on as Ambrose delivered a series of sharp elbows to his opponent's head. "Very eccentric style of Dean Ambrose."

"He gets the job done," Hannah butted in. "He's efficient. John Cena could learn a thing or two from him."

Just as the words left her mouth, Sheamus hit Ambrose with a massive Brogue Kick. He fell to the mat like a collapsing tree. "Well it looks like _he's_ learning a few things from Sheamus right now!" King chimed. Hannah ignored him.

Ambrose lolled around on the canvas, dazed and unsure of himself. But he managed to tag in Reigns just as Sheamus tagged in Cena.

"And here comes Cena!" Cole proclaimed.

The crowd was a mixture of boos and cheers as Cena delivered an all too familiar series of flying shoulder blocks to Reigns. He picked him up and laid him out with a side release spinout slam, and everyone knew what was coming next. He raised his right hand high in the air in the air—and positioned himself so that he could see Hannah.

"I think Cena has a message for you, Hannah!" King joyfully announced. Sure enough, Cena looked her dead in the eye, and waved his hand in front of his face in his signature "You can't see me" gesture, taunting her. He bounced off the ropes and hit Reigns with the Five Knuckle Shuffle. Hannah erupted into her headset.

"He is _everything_ that's wrong with this company! He _disgusts_ me! He thinks he can just get away with crap like that?"

"He just did!" King returned.

Cena tried to set up Reigns for the Attitude Adjustment, but Rollins dove into the ring and interfered. Cena, however, quickly tossed him out and immediately tripped Reigns and locked on the STF. He didn't hold it for long, though—Ambrose broke it up, and then, in an act of revenge, Rollins hit Cena with a hard flying knee to the temple from the top rope. "The Champ" was knocked out cold in the middle of the ring, and the Shield was in control once again.

"I gotta tell ya, this is the greatest three-man team this business has ever seen," JBL said as Reigns went for the pin. Cena, unfortunately, kicked out. " _Ever_."

"I'm glad _someone_ here has the brains to see that," Hannah commented; but King, of course, just had to open his stupid mouth and argue.

"Wait a minute, I would not go _that_ far."

"Who in the world can you name that's been more destructive than these three?" she shot. "Name anyone. You can't, because no one in the history of this company has been more dominate, more efficient, or more justified than Rollins, Reigns, and Ambrose."

"They haven't even won this match yet!" King proclaimed.

"'Yet' being the operative word," Hannah countered; King fell silent.

Back in the ring, Reigns tossed Cena around like a rag doll. He was down on the mat, exhausted, clinging to the bottom rope as if his life depended upon it. He couldn't catch a break; and, unfortunately for him, he was in the Shield's corner. Reigns tagged in Ambrose.

Dean stomped on Cena's chest, delivered a blow to his head, picked him up and kneed him in the gut. His movements were deliberate, calculated. It was like watching a snake attack its prey. Hannah couldn't pay attention to anything else. She was captivated.

"Dean Ambrose said that he believes Cena, Sheamus, and Ryback are three morally empty individuals," Cole stated. "He called Cena a failure. He fails to set an example every day. He said in Cena's world—wait a minute, cover by Ambrose." Dean went for the pin, but Cena's hand was underneath the rope. Hannah took the opportunity to finish Cole's sentence for him.

"In Cena's world there are no consequences. That's not how the real world works. Cena isn't exempt from anything—he's a problem, and the Shield is going to take care of that problem."

As if on cue, Rollins—who had been tagged in and was continuing Ambrose's beating—shouted in Cena's face, "You're the problem!" He went for another cover attempt, but again, Cena kicked out.

The air inside the arena turned electric as Rollins continued to dominate. Half the fans chanted, "Let's go Cena!" and the other half, "Cena sucks!" Rollins stood on Cena's hand, pinning him there with nowhere to go, and tagged in Ambrose.

"Look at Ambrose, just toying with Cena," Cole said. Dean had backed him into the Shield's corner and was smacking him, taunting him, talking shit. He tagged Rollins back in but then Reigns tagged himself in, as well. After delivering a leaping elbow to Cena's jaw Rollins whipped him out of the corner and right into a massive flying clothesline from Reigns. Reigns went for the pinfall attempt, but Sheamus dove into the ring and broke up the count.

"You see, even Sheamus knows they don't stand a chance beating the Shield," Hannah commented.

"Well, the Shield certainly has remained in control for the majority of this match up," Cole conceded.

Thanks to the distraction from Sheamus, Cena was able to land a few blows on Reigns; but when he bounced off the ropes Reigns scooped him up and hit him with a Samoan Drop. He went for the cover, but somehow Cena powered out.

Reigns became frustrated. He let out a groan and pounded the mat, but was quick to get Cena into a chin lock. The taunting started again. Ambrose stuck his head through the ropes, waving at Cena with a twisted grin on his face. He was mocking him and loving every second of it.

"Look at Ambrose, toying with Cena again," Cole repeated.

"He's a master of mind games," Hannah interjected. "You think my Neanderthal brother-in-law is the Cerebral Assassin? He has _nothing_ on Dean Ambrose."

Back in the ring Cena was fighting against the chin lock. He mustered all the strength he had left to pry Reigns's hands apart, and he had just enough energy to pick the big Samoan halfway up and drop him sloppily to the mat. Both men were down. For now, the odds were even.

"Cena's gotta make a tag," Cole stated. "Ryback _still_ hasn't been in."

Both men pulled themselves to their feet—and Reigns took Cena out with yet another clothesline. There was another pinfall attempt, but Cena kicked out _again_.

"If they can find a way to defeat the ten-time WWE Champion, Ryback may never get into this match," JBL said.

Reigns tagged in Ambrose, and he went to work again. He attacked him with more of those calculated blows before hitting him with a neckbreaker. He went for the cover—but Cena kicked out. Ambrose, however, didn't waste any time. He locked his legs around Cena's head in a submission maneuver, choking him. Cena, however, countered. He rolled over onto his knees and summoned all his power to stand, rising to his feet with Ambrose atop his shoulders. He ran out from under his opponent toward the ropes with the intention of rebounding off of them—but Ambrose landed on his feet and was right behind him. He kneed Cena hard in the stomach before he could make a single move. He pulled him into a front headlock and hit him with an absolutely devastating DDT. Hannah was in complete awe.

"Down goes Cena with a _wicked_ DDT!" Cole proclaimed. Ambrose rolled Cena over and hooked his leg in a pin; but _somehow_ Cena stayed alive.

Ambrose lost it. He pounded at the mat and cried out in anger, but then he took to stalking Cena. He watched him, waiting with that twisted grin on his face as Cena pulled himself up. Once he was back on his feet, Ambrose bounced off the opposite ropes, his right hand balled into a fist; but the punch never connected. Cena had the wherewithal to pick Ambrose up and throw him over the top rope and down onto the floor below.

"This is the chance Cena needs," JBL stated.

"I don't think Ambrose knows where he's at right now!" King added.

The entire arena was fervently chanting, "Feed me more!" They wanted Ryback in the match. Cena was crawling on hands and knees toward his team's corner—and the fans got their wish when he tagged Ryback in just as Ambrose tagged in Rollins.

Ryback plowed through Rollins with a forearm to the face, and did the same to Ambrose when he charged at him. He tore through them one after the other, launching them both through the air via a back body drop and then throwing them on top of each other into the turnbuckle. He stalked to the opposite side of the ring, pumping his arm as the crowd continued their chant; they wanted to see his lariat that had dismantled so many Superstars before. But Ryback was suddenly ambushed by Reigns. Then all chaos broke loose.

Sheamus went in after Reigns, and when Ambrose went after him the Celtic Warrior hit him with a clothesline with such force that they both flipped out of the ring. He continued the beating ringside—but then Reigns hit him with a spear to end all spears. They both went crashing through the barricade just next to the announce table. Lilian Garcia barely escaped being crushed. The fans absolutely lost it.

"Oh my God!" Cole exclaimed. "Roman Reigns just speared Sheamus into the timekeeper's area! Unbelievable spear by Roman Reigns! Sheamus may be down and out! Meanwhile Rollins and Ryback back in the ring!"

Rollins climbed to the top rope and launched himself at Ryback—but Ryback caught him. He lifted him high above his head, but Ambrose made a quick save when he slid into the ring and punched Ryback in the gut. Ryback went down, surrounded; and there was no around to help him.

The end looked nigh. Ryback was alone in the ring and the Shield was in their element: three on one, ganging up on their victim like a pack of wolves. Rollins and Ambrose picked Ryback up, draping his arms over his shoulders. Reigns let out a guttural war cry—but before they could set up their patented triple powerbomb, Cena, from out of nowhere, grabbed Reigns by the ankles and pulled him out of the ring.

Cena dodged into the ring after Ambrose while Ryback took out Rollins. The tables had turned once again. Cena hit Ambrose with the Attitude Adjustment and Ryback was seconds away from planting Rollins with the Shell Shocked—but then the unthinkable happened.

"A spear! A spear!" Cole shouted. Reigns had flown into the ring, and just before Ryback could hit his finisher he had plowed into him with another devastating spear.

Rollins fell right on top of Ryback and hooked his leg. They were still the two legal men. The referee fell to the mat and counted _1-2-3_. That was it. The match was over. The Shield had won.

"The Shield has done it!" Cole proclaimed. King and JBL, meanwhile, were silent, absolutely shocked at what they had just witnessed. And Hannah was smug as she could possibly be.

"What did I tell you, boys?" she said with a shit-eating grin. "Maybe it's about time you start believing in the Shield."

She removed her headset from her ears and strutted past the fans. They jeered at her, shouting venomous, hateful things as she passed, but the self-satisfied smile never once left her face. She helped Rollins to pull Ambrose down from the ring apron, but she didn't follow them toward the barricade. Instead she stopped and looked to where Cena sat in the middle of the ring. He was in a state of absolute confusion and disbelief, at a complete loss for how his team could have possibly failed. Their eyes locked, and with a taunting smirk on her lips she waved her hand in front of her face. _You can't see me_. She added a wink for good measure.

Ambrose tugged on her arm, and she joined her cohorts on the other side of the barricade. They retreated toward the back, stopping to look on triumphantly toward the ring, and when the camera cut away from them they made their way back behind the stage and out of sight. Colby let out a holler of excitement.

"That was _perfect_ , dude; I landed right on top of Ryback. How'd it look, boss?"

Hannah shook her head, a giant smile on her face. She was at a loss for words. "You all stole the show. I don't think anyone expected you to win."

Reigns rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. "I don't know about y'all, but I think there's a celebration in order," he grinned. "And don't you even _think_ about trying to get out of it."

Hannah's eyes bulged; he was talking to her. "Oh," she started, shaking her head. "I don't—"

"Ah!" Colby cut her off. "We won't take no for an answer. You're a part of this team, too, and I refuse to celebrate without you."

The three of them stared expectantly down at her, awaiting an answer. But she didn't know what to say. She wanted to go out with them—really, she did—but it just wasn't appropriate. They may be her friends and teammates, but there were also professional barriers that needed to be maintained. "I–"

"Come on, Hannah," Jon interrupted. "Everyone else is going out, so why shouldn't you? Besides; I'll cut you off if I have to."

Hannah pursed her lips at him, piqued; but there was an inviting glint of mischief in his eyes that she just couldn't ignore. It provoked something inside her, and suddenly sitting alone in her hotel room became the absolute last thing she wanted to do. "Fine," she agreed. "But I'm leaving as soon as I start to feel _anything_."

"Deal," Jon grinned, and Hannah walked off before he could convince her of anything else—subconsciously or otherwise.

* * *

 _Bourbon Street, French Quarter  
_ _New Orleans, Louisiana_

When Hannah had agreed to go out with the guys, she hadn't realized she'd agreed to a bar crawl down Bourbon Street.

They'd started at Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop, a rickety little dive built in 1722 that purported to be the oldest operating bar in America. Hannah had purposefully ordered a drink she hated—vodka water—to keep herself from actually drinking it. But the guys weren't fooled, and when they'd arrived at their second stop—Pat O'Brien's—Colby had bought her a Hurricane before she could protest. From there they'd moved to Tropical Isle, where she'd refused a Hand Grenade until Colby had agreed to share it with her. Now, already buzzed and getting buzzier, they were on their way to Bourbon Cowboy where there was apparently a mechanical bull. Hannah knew she'd said she'd leave once she started to feel it, but she was just starting to enjoy herself. As long as she ordered a glass of water at the next bar, she'd be fine.

"You're a terrible influence," she said as she pointed a finger in Colby's face. "You know that?"

He just grinned. "You're gonna ride the bull once we get to Bourbon Cowboy, right?"

"Hell no," she firmly returned. "I'm not riding _anything_ tonight."

Colby choked on his drink; Roman let out a loud peal of laughter. Hannah glared at them. "You all are the literal worst," she said.

"I don't know, the night's still young, Hannah," Jon smirked. "I wouldn't count out riding anything just yet."

Roman's eyebrows shot into his hairline as he glanced between the two of them. "Um, is there something you two need to tell us?"

Hannah's face burned a hot shade of crimson, but she quickly deflected. " _No_. Jon's just a _pervert_." She sent him a look; he sent her a wink. Her blush deepened.

"We're here!" Colby proclaimed. The bar was huge, and despite being Sunday night it was packed wall to wall. Hannah wouldn't be surprised if half the people there had been at _Elimination Chamber_ , but the first faces she saw in the crowd were ones she recognized. Kaitlyn, Dolph Ziggler, Big E—and AJ and Phil.

The words flew out of her mouth before she could stop them. "What the fuck are they doing here?"

Colby shook his head. "Hannah, I swear I had no idea they'd be here. Come on, there are a million other bars we can go to." He grabbed her hand and started back for the exit—but Hannah didn't move.

"We're not going anywhere," she said. Colby looked surprised.

"You sure?"

She nodded. She was a grown ass woman, she was Hannah McMahon, and she sure as hell wasn't running from her ex and _AJ Lee_.

But she snatched the Hand Grenade out of Colby's hand, just in case.

* * *

Hannah had that funny feeling behind her eyes that she always got whenever she'd had too much to drink. Soon she'd be stumbling and slurring her words, and Dolph Ziggler was obviously hoping she'd do a little something else, too. No doubt he'd heard the rumors—perhaps he thought he could succeed where Corey Graves had failed. But Hannah wasn't paying any attention to Dolph or whatever self-promoting story he was telling; she was busy watching Phil and AJ.

What the _fuck_ were they doing here? If there were one place on planet Earth that Hannah would have guessed she'd _never_ see Phil Brooks, it was at a bar on Bourbon Street. Phil _hated_ drunken people. In fact, he hated them so much that Hannah had practically quit drinking herself when they'd been together; it'd felt like he judged her just for enjoying a glass of red wine with dinner. But Phil didn't just hate drunks—he was borderline anti-social, too. The way he saw it, he had his friends and he didn't need any more; it had been like pulling teeth trying to get him to go out and socialize. But here he was, out at a bar, with AJ and _her_ friends. It made Hannah's blood boil.

"What does he even see in her?"

Dolph abruptly stopped his jabbering. He followed her line of sight and gave a shrug. "I actually think they're perfect for each other."

Hannah turned her glare on him. "Excuse me?"

"You know," he reasoned with a smirk. "They're both entitled loners who think they know better than everyone else. Now at least they can bitch to each other about everything they hate about WWE."

"Wait." Her brows furrowed, confused. "Do you not like AJ?"

Dolph shrugged again. "Like I said, sometimes she can be a bit snotty. But I don't mind working with her. Plus she's a pretty good kisser."

Hannah rolled her eyes. The last thing she wanted to hear right now was an assessment of her ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend's kissing skills.

" _You_ don't seem to like her very much," Dolph noted. She sent him a blank look.

"Gee, I wonder why that is," she deadpanned. It was hardly a mystery backstage why Phil and Hannah were no longer together; Dolph knew damn well she didn't like AJ.

"Well, this might cheer you up," he nodded toward the center of the bar. "It looks like she's about to ride the bull."

" _What?_ " Hannah's eyes shot to where the mechanical bull sat underneath bright spotlights just at the edge of the dance floor. Sure enough, tiny little AJ was struggling to climb into the saddle. She had to pull herself up and flop down onto her stomach like a dead fish before she could swing her leg over to the other side. Hannah snickered; maybe this would be entertaining.

The operator started the bull off rocking slowly from front to back, rocking AJ's hips suggestively in the saddle—it was the same move he'd been pulling with all the attractive girls who rode the bull that night. But then he whipped the bull sharply to the right, and AJ slipped sideways out of the saddle. She managed to hang on, but a sharp spin to the left flung her off and onto the padded floor below. She'd barely lasted five seconds.

"She should keep her day job," Hannah commented.

"Think you could do better?" Dolph challenged.

Hannah defiantly set down her drink, a drunken confidence in her eyes. "Of course I can do better," she returned, and without another word she marched purposefully toward the mechanical bull. She never passed up a challenge—and if she could show up AJ, even better.

There was a line to sign up to ride, but Hannah shouldered her way to the front, ignoring the glares and protests she received from the other girls. She leaned on the operator's booth and gave the man standing behind the controls a flirtatious grin. "Hey there. I know there's a list, but do you think I could ride next? I _really_ want to give it a go."

A goofy grin appeared on the operator's baby face—he couldn't have been older than twenty-five, and judging by the size of his eyes he clearly recognized her. Slowly, he nodded. "Thanks," Hannah sent him another grin and a wink, signed the insurance waiver, kicked off her shoes and climbed into the riding ring. _All you have to beat is five seconds_ , she told herself. _You can do that_.

She pulled herself up onto the bull, much more gracefully than AJ had. Somewhere in the crowd Colby excitedly shouted her name, but she couldn't see him for the lights. She wrapped the holding rope around her right wrist, raised her left arm into the air, and took a deep breath. _Here goes nothing_.

The operator tipped the bull all the way forward, and Hannah had to lean way back in the saddle not to fall off. She expected him to tip it slowly backward again like he had done with AJ, but instead he spun it slowly in a circle; and then, suddenly, he jerked the bull's nose up into the air. She was almost bucked off the back, but she managed to hold on. The bull spun in a slow circle again, and she had to squeeze her thighs hard to keep from slipping off; but just when she thought she couldn't hold on any longer, the bull evened out. Slowly but surely, it began bucking back and forth, faster and faster. And then, with one hard whip to the left, she was flung out of the saddle. The crowd cheered, and she looked up at the clock: eight seconds. A wide grin broke out over her face. She hadn't just beaten AJ's time—she'd _murdered_ it.

She bounded back out of the riding ring and searched the crowd for AJ; she wanted to see the sad, defeated look on her dumb bespectacled face. But when Hannah spotted her, she didn't look defeated at all. She was grinning up at Phil, and he down at her, like they were the only two people in the entire world.

Hannah's heart plummeted into her stomach. It hadn't been that long ago that Phil had looked at _her_ like that. And now she didn't even matter to him.

"Nice riding, boss." Jon smirked down at her, but Hannah didn't even acknowledge him. She had to get out of there.

She rushed out of the bar, not even stopping to put on her shoes, and stuck out an arm to hail a cab—but someone grabbed her wrist. It was Jon.

"Whoa, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm just tired. I want to go back to the hotel." She stuck her arm out further, but Jon took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him.

"Bullshit. Tell me what happened." His brow was heavy with concern—and as much as Hannah wanted to tell him off she just couldn't.

"I'd never actually seen them together before. Not like that," she explained. Her voice cracked, but she refused to cry. "I think part of me was hoping it wasn't real, that this was all just some horrible nightmare I have yet to wake up from, but it's not. It's real, and it's over. And he couldn't look happier about—"

She didn't get to finish her sentence. Jon's hands had moved from her shoulders to her face, and the next thing she knew his lips were on hers.

She didn't stop him—she was far too stunned to stop him. But then she noticed how good his lips felt, how hungry the kiss was. It was intoxicating. Maybe it was the alcohol, but she realized that she didn't want to stop him.

Finally, breathless, he pulled away. Hannah's eyes shot open. "What the hell was that?" she breathed.

Jon leaned his forehead against hers, his hands still entangled in her hair. "It got you to stop thinking about your asshole ex, didn't it?"

Words failed her. Yes, it definitely had gotten her to stop thinking about Phil. But now she was thinking about a bunch of other things she didn't want to think about, either. "I have to go," she said, and she turned and hurried off in the opposite direction as fast as she could, away from Jon.


	10. One-Two Punch

_A/N: So. There's a pretty big difference between constructive criticism and straight flaming/bashing. I welcome the former, as it makes me a better writer. I DO NOT welcome the latter, and if you flame/bash my story do not expect me to just sit back silently and take it. That being said, if you don't like this version of the story or this version of my OC and you're incapable of expressing that opinion to me in a constructive, respectful way, please do us all a favor and keep your rudeness to yourself. Better yet, just go ahead and unfollow this story. Thanks!_

 _Now that that's out of the way, thank you to everyone who DOES give constructive, in-depth reviews - I can't say enough how much I appreciate it. I'm sorry this chapter isn't nearly as long as the last few have been, but despite its brevity there's actually quite a lot happening. Enjoy!_

 **Chapter Ten**

 _Monday, February 18, 2013  
_ WWE Monday Night RAW  
 _Cajundome – Lafayette, Louisiana_

"Hannah!" Stephanie snapped her fingers in front of Hannah's face; Hannah snapped to attention. She let out a weary sigh—it was going to be a long night.

"What's wrong with you today?" Stephanie pried. "Is there something we need to talk about?"

"No," Hannah returned. She rubbed a hand over her forehead, exhausted. "I barely got any sleep last night. I just have a lot on my mind."

"Like what?"

" _Nothing_. Can we please get to whatever it is you called me in here for?" Hannah was in no mood for Stephanie's nosiness. She was tired, she was irritable, and the absolute last thing she wanted was to talk anyone, let alone her overbearing sister, about the kiss that had kept her up all night. There was no point talking about it, anyway—it hadn't meant anything. It was a drunken stunt Jon had pulled to distract her from Phil and AJ. That was it, nothing more. Case closed.

Stephanie pursed her lips in annoyance. "Fine," she conceded. "Your fiancé's getting his contract tonight."

That was news to Hannah. "How? Will he finally win a match?"

"I didn't say he was getting a _wrestling_ contract," she clarified. "Vince will name him the Assistant to the Managing Supervisor of _RAW_."

Hannah paused. Brad Maddox, assistant to Vickie "Excuse Me" Guerrero. If he hadn't grated her nerves already…

"Wait," she pondered. "How in the world are you explaining how he got that job? He's _my_ fiancé, and the only person Vince hates more than me is Paul Heyman. It would be completely illogical for him to grant Maddox that position."

Stephanie's blue eyes twinkled. Hannah cocked her head, dubious. Her sister had something up her sleeve. "Oh, trust me," she smirked. "There's a condition."

" _And?_ What is it?"

Stephanie became suddenly enamored with her iPhone. "Vickie will call you out to the ring tonight," she said. "You'll find out what it is then."

Hannah rolled her eyes. She hated when Stephanie pulled this cryptic bullshit; it was a move straight out of the Vince McMahon Playbook.

"That's all I wanted to tell you," she said as she glanced back up at her. "You know, you should probably get to makeup. They're gonna need industrial strength concealer for those bags under your eyes."

"Oh good one, Steph. How many brain cells did you expend coming up with that sick burn?" Hannah sarcastically returned, but her sister's self-satisfied grin remained intact. It was unsettling.

She abruptly stood and made for the door, but just as she was about to set foot in the hallway Stephanie spoke up again. "Oh and Hannah, one more thing." Her eyes darkened. "Whatever you do, _don't_ break character."

Hannah retreated, her nerves rattled. Stephanie had something planned, and that was never a good thing.

* * *

" _EXCUSE ME!"_ Vickie Guerrero practically screamed into the mike to be heard above the crowd, but it was useless. The louder she got, the louder they got. "I am Vickie Guerrero, and I am the Managing Supervisor of _Monday Night RAW_!"

Hannah rolled her eyes as she stood, arms crossed, next to Paul Heyman. Vickie had called them both out to the ring; apparently this announcement of hers pertained to them both. Hannah was willing to bet it would be a total waste of their time.

"Now Paul, Hannah—let's not waste any more time," Vickie went on. "I said I had a _huge_ announcement to make tonight; an announcement that could drastically change your career and even your whole life, Paul. And Hannah," she smiled ominously at the chairman's daughter. "I'm sure it will affect you, too."

She chortled into the microphone, all too pleased with herself. Hannah glowered, impatient. "Well would you get on with it then? I don't have all night."

"Yes, Vickie, please do get on with it," Heyman agreed. "Hannah has careers to destroy."

Hannah rounded on Heyman. "Are you kidding me? I've done nothing but help—"

"EXCUSE ME!" Vickie screeched so loudly it made Hannah's ears ring. "As I was saying, tonight I am going to be naming a new assistant for myself."

Heyman's eyebrows arched, unimpressed. " _And?_ " he charged. Vickie ignored him.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she continued, "please welcome the Assistant to the Managing Supervisor of _Monday Night RAW_ : Brad Maddox!"

Hannah's eyes widened. For a second, she wasn't sure what to say; Vickie couldn't be serious. "I'm sorry; what did you just say?"

Vickie's only response was that maniacal cackle of hers. It took every fiber of Hannah's being not to smack her upside the head—but then Brad emerged from underneath the TitanTron, microphone in hand, and suddenly is was him she wanted to smack. She snatched Vickie's mike from her hands and glared up the ramp at her fiancé. "Brad, you better explain to me _right now_ what the hell she's talking about." She was incensed—but Maddox clearly couldn't care less.

"Please, babe, don't get your panties all in a jumble; save that for later," he quipped as he strolled down the ramp. "I do have an explanation, and the thing is, Vincent Kennedy McMahon himself—dear old Dad—he made me an offer I simply couldn't refuse. And now," he paused to climb the steel steps and duck through the ropes into the ring, "he's named me Assistant _Managing_ Supervisor."

Hannah remained deadly quiet. But before she could erupt like a volcano Vickie rudely and abruptly snatched the microphone back from her. "Uh, excuse me, Brad," she started with a bit of a laugh, "it's Assistant _to_ the Managing Supervisor."

"Right," Maddox nodded. "Assistant Managing Supervisor."

"Assistant TO the Managing Supervisor."

"That's what I said."

"Is this my cue to vomit?" Heyman interrupted—but then Hannah took charge again. She grabbed Brad's hand and pulled his microphone slowly toward her mouth. Her eyes were dark.

"What exactly was the offer dear old Dad made you, _sweetheart_?" She wanted answers, and she wanted them _now_. But before Maddox could respond, the man in question answered for himself.

"Oh I'll tell you what the offer was, Hannah." Vince McMahon's gravelly voice sounded throughout the arena. Hannah looked up to find her father staring down at her from the TitanTron screen. It was rather intimidating seeing him looming above her like that, literally larger than life. Even with the crutches propping him up, he looked downright frightening.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," he went on, "but last week you and Brad got into a little argument about, well, his _work_ situation. You told him it was _his_ fault he didn't have a WWE contract because he failed to win any of his sanctioned matches, did you not?"

"Mr. McMahon," Maddox interjected, "with all due respect, I was the victim of poor officiating in every single one of those—"

Hannah snatched the mike from him before he could finish. "Yes," she answered outright. "I did say that, and it _is_ his fault he doesn't have a contract."

"Uh, _didn't_ have a contract, dear," Maddox corrected. "Past tense. I have one now."

"Whoa, whoa," Vince interjected. "Not so fast there, Brad. I'm not done yet, and you know what our deal was.

"You see Hannah, that wasn't a very nice thing of you to say to your fiancé, now was it? Take it from me: a marriage is supposed to be a partnership. You should want to help Brad in any way you can! You should want to see him succeed! You _do_ want him to succeed… don't you?"

Hannah drew her lips into a thin, agitated grin; that was the exact same thing Maddox had asked her last week. "Of course I do," she sweetly returned.

Maddox wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him. "I love you too, sugar pants," he grinned. Hannah did her best not to gag.

"Well then I would say it's about damn time you helped him out!" Vince proclaimed. "It's about time you made good on your promise to get him a contract; and perhaps _you_ can succeed where he's failed so many times."

Hannah's scowl faded; her heart dropped like a stone into her stomach. If this was going where she thought this was going…

"You see, this position I've granted Brad Maddox is conditional because, well, it's on one condition that he'll get to _keep_ it: Next week on _RAW_ , Hannah, _you_ have to win a match. I'll leave your opponent up to Vickie."

A ripple of excitement rushed throughout the crowd. Vickie cackled. Hannah's jaw dropped. She was going to _murder_ Stephanie.

" _What?!_ " she erupted and charged at Maddox. "You _knew_ about this?! You _agreed_ to this?!"

"Only because I believe in you, babe," he coolly returned. But Hannah was at a complete loss for words.

The rest of the segment passed by in a blur. Vince challenged Heyman to a match on _RAW_ , but Hannah had mentally checked out as soon as she'd learned about _her_ match. And as soon as the show went to commercial, she stormed backstage and made a beeline for her brother-in-law.

"What the fuck, Paul?" Everyone around turned and gawked at her, but she couldn't care less if she made a scene. She was _furious_. "A _match?_ You put me in a fucking match and _that's_ how you tell me? Where the fuck is Stephanie? Hiding?"

Paul fixed steely eyes on her, his jaw hard. "First of all, I suggest you calm down and adjust your tone right now," he warned. "Second, I understand why you're upset. But it garnered a genuine reaction this way."

"A _genuine reaction?_ Are you _serious?_ " She grabbed at her hair in frustration. "I have a _week_ , Paul! A _week_ to learn how to _wrestle!_ "

His tone remained even. "Well then I suggest you get to training."

Hannah's jaw dropped. If he weren't her boss, if they weren't in front of all these people right now—

"Come down to NXT for the week. I'll train you."

Her eyes shut tight at the sound of Maddox's voice. And she'd thought this situation couldn't possibly get any worse.

"How generous of you, Brad," Paul lauded. "Looks like you're all set, Hannah." He flashed her that shit-eating grin she'd become all too familiar with over the years. Her fists clenched tighter. Sometimes Paul infuriated her even more than Stephanie did.

"Hannah, Brad," a production assistant cautiously interrupted. "We need to film a backstage segment with you two _now_."

Hannah let out a huff; she was far from done with Paul, but this conversation would have to wait. She stuck an ominous finger in his face. "One day, I _promise_ you'll get yours," she vowed, and she stalked off after Maddox, everyone's eyes following.

* * *

"So I'm gonna take a wild guess that you had no idea about your match next week?"

Hannah didn't answer Colby; she just let out an exasperated, angry groan as she tossed her things into the back of her rental. "I'm gonna take that as a _no_ ," he figured.

"I had _no fucking clue_ ," she returned. "I found out at the exact same moment as you and the entire rest of the world. I can't believe Stephanie. I knew she was out to humiliate me but I never thought she'd do _this_." Forget her and Maddox's impending nuptials—a wrestling match was a foolproof way for Stephanie to ensure that Hannah made an absolute fool of herself. She'd never wrestled a day in her life. A week was not nearly enough time to go from "zero" to "live match on _RAW_."

"Don't stress about it," Colby advised. "They know you're not a wrestler; I'm sure they'll find some ridiculous way to get you over. Do you know who you're working?"

She shook her head. "No. My guess is Nattie or some other babyface, though. I mean, I'm obviously gonna win."

"Of course," he grinned. "Your fiancé has to keep his job."

Hannah chewed on her lip, suddenly nervous. "Do you have to go to Qatar? Come to Florida and teach me how to wrestle," she pouted up at him. "Jon and Roman can handle the _RAW_ World Tour without you."

Colby let out a laugh. "I love you, Hannah, but there's no chance in hell I'm skipping the _RAW_ World Tour to teach you how to wrestle. Don't worry; you're in good hands with Chris. I learned a ton from him at Ring of Honor."

Hannah fidgeted. She knew she was in good hands with Chris. She just didn't know if she'd be able to learn anything he'd teach her in _a week_.

"Yo!" Roman called out from across the parking lot; he and Jon walked toward them, laden down with gym bags and suitcases. "Let's go," he said to Colby. "We gotta hit the road."

Hannah frowned up at him again. "Please don't leave me."

"You'll be fine!" he assured as he gave her a hug. "Just watch—I bet you're a natural."

"Yeah, a natural disaster," she quipped. They said their goodbyes, and she gave a halfhearted grin as Colby went to join his teammates. At least he had some faith in her, unlike her stupid sister. She turned to get in her car, ready to hit the road—hopefully the drive would clear her mind—but before she could open the door someone called out her name.

"Hannah!"

She turned, her fingers in the door handle. It was Jon.

"Were you gonna leave without saying goodbye to me?" he asked as he jogged up to her. Hannah shifted, her heart nervously thrumming in her chest. This was the first time he'd spoken to her since last night—the first time since the kiss that didn't matter.

"Would you care if I did?" she returned.

His blue eyes narrowed. "I don't know," he thought aloud. "Maybe." He smirked down at her, and she fidgeted underneath his gaze like she always did. It was particularly penetrating tonight, as if he could see right through her.

"Why'd you kiss me last night?" The question blurted out of her mouth before she could stop it. "Was it really just to get me to stop thinking about Phil?"

Jon stepped closer; Hannah's heart hammered faster. She could smell his cologne. It was the same scent she'd smelled on his sheets the night she'd slept in his bed, earthy and warm. "Yeah, it was," he admitted. "But I've been wanting to do it again ever since."

Hannah's stomach flip-flopped. She tried to talk, but her brain had turned to mush. She could barely get her legs to work when Jon tugged her into him, and when his lips captured hers for a second time it was even better than the first.

Reluctantly, they pulled apart. Hannah's hands clutched at his shirt. Jon smirked. "See you next week, boss."

"Bye." She could barely get the word out. He sent her a wink and a grin, and with that he left, her lips tingling.


	11. Work Stiff

_A/N: TGIF! Here's to a short work week and a hopefully long weekend. As always, thank you to all for your follows/favorites and thoughtful in-depth reviews. Once again, some of the points made by reviewers in the last chapter inspired me to add some things to this chapter; I can't stress enough how important CONSTRUCTIVE reviews are._

 _That being said, I'm kind of nervous to see how you all will interpret Hannah's actions in this chapter. I stand by them 100%, obviously, but it's always interesting to hear the readers' perspective._

 **Chapter Eleven**

 _Wednesday, February 20, 2013  
_ _NXT facilities  
_ _Tampa, Florida_

"Do it again."

It must have been the hundredth time Chris had repeated that phrase over the course of the last two hours. Hannah was getting a crash course in pro wrestling. They'd started with the basics: bumping, running the ropes, and the four cardinal holds: wristlock, waist lock, headlock, and hammerlock. Now they'd moved on to actually using those holds: chain wrestling. Hannah was tired, she was sore, and she was pretty sure she was bruised, but she would continue to "do it again" until she was told otherwise. Word had come in on her opponent, and it was the absolute last name she'd expected to hear: AJ _fucking_ Lee. If she hadn't been motivated to do her best before, she certainly was now.

Thankfully, she couldn't possibly be in better hands. Her teacher was none other than Sara Del Rey, veritable indie women's wrestling legend and current NXT trainer. Even better, they had the facilities all to themselves that day; the majority of the NXT roster was off filming at Full Sail University in Orlando, and because Chris wasn't on the show that week he was able to lend a second set of eyes and advice.

In other words, if Hannah didn't learn _something_ by the end of this week it would be her own damn fault.

For the thousandth time, she and Sara locked up in the middle of the ring. They struggled against one another until Hannah grabbed ahold of Sara's wrist and spun her arm into a wristlock. She wrenched it and Sara dropped to a knee, selling the move, and after she'd worked back to her feet Hannah pulled her into a side headlock. Again she cranked the hold, squeezing Sara's head between her forearm and bicep, and before Sara could reverse it Hannah dropped to a knee and executed a headlock takedown. Sara landed with her back flat on the mat, her head still trapped in Hannah's grip.

"That was good, Hannah," Chris approved from his post on the ring apron.

"You're a fast learner," Sara complimented as they broke apart. "Next thing you know you'll be hitting suplexes."

Hannah's eyes widened. "I think I'll leave that up to you. I just want to learn enough to survive Monday."

"As long as you get the basics down you'll be fine," Chris said. "People will actually be pretty impressed if they see that you can chain wrestle. And don't even worry about calling the match; AJ will take care of that."

"Um, don't you think I _should_ be worried about that?" Hannah countered. It wasn't lost on her that, come Monday night, she'd be putting her trust and safety into the hands of the one person who hated her most. But Chris didn't seem concerned.

"AJ's a professional, Hannah," he argued. "You two may hate each other, but I doubt she's dumb enough to pull any stunts on Vince McMahon's daughter."

Hannah pursed her lips. She wasn't so sure she agreed, but she kept quiet.

"I doubt there'll be much to call, anyway," Sara offered. "Ziggler, Big E, and Maddox will probably _all_ be ringside, and then if the Shield shows up too it'll be complete chaos. You could probably just surprise AJ with a roll up after some sort of distraction."

"No," Chris firmly interjected. "I'm not letting my student win via surprise roll-up."

Sara arched an eyebrow at him. " _Your_ student? I haven't seen you in the ring with her."

"Right, because I'm the teacher. You're just the sparring partner."

Sara shot him a threatening look, but he'd already moved on. "I want you to learn at least one high-impact move. I'm thinking a DDT. It's simple enough for a beginner to pull off, but effective enough that you could use it to put AJ away."

Hannah nodded. "I think I can handle a DDT."

"All right," Sara looked at Chris. "Then get your ass in here so I can demonstrate."

Chris suddenly looked like he wished he could take back his sparring partner comment, but he climbed in through the ropes nonetheless.

"Okay," Sara started, "the first thing you're gonna do is kick him in the gut." She squared up with Chris and used the flat of her foot to kick him in the middle of his stomach; he doubled over as if in pain. "You're just gonna tap him and pull your foot away as fast as you can. Make sure to use the flat of your foot; if you use your toe you could end up jabbing him, and if you use your heel you might hit him too hard. And _always_ aim right for the stomach."

"Yes please," Chris said. "I'm not wearing a cup."

They switched places and, just as Sara had, Hannah shot her foot out and "kicked" Chris right in the stomach with the flat of her foot, pulling quickly away after not so much as a tap. Again he doubled over, grabbing his stomach.

"Good," Sara said. "Now for the DDT itself, the first thing you're gonna do is put him in a front facelock." She wrapped her forearm around Chris's neck just as she would for a side headlock, except she and him were facing opposite directions. "Then all you're gonna do is kick your legs out from under you and take a back bump, and he's gonna take a face bump. And make sure to do something to let him know you're about to go—you _always_ have to protect each other. The easiest way to do it is just slap him on the back right before you're about to go down."

Just as she explained, Sara smacked Chris on the back and immediately kicked her legs out from underneath her, never letting go of the headlock, and fell backward to the mat landing flat on her back. Chris landed face down, his head turned to the side.

"Pretty simple move," he said, but Hannah was hesitant. The move was simple enough, but she wasn't that confident in her bumping ability. They must have spent 45 minutes on bumping alone and she _still_ couldn't do it quite right every time. The last thing she wanted was to accidentally injure anyone—even AJ.

Sara could tell exactly what she was thinking. "If you're worried about taking the bump what you can do is swing your outside leg back and then forward before you jump. The momentum will help, and it'll actually make the move look more impactful."

"That's actually how Ambrose does it," Chris said from the mat. "So it'd make sense for you to do it that way, too."

"But," Sara pointed her finger in the air, "there's one thing you really have to remember about this move. When you first put him in the facelock your grip will be tight, but when you drop back you _have_ to loosen it up so that he can fall on his own. Don't let go, but give him some room. If you don't he'll end up landing on the top of his head."

Hannah furrowed her brow; maybe this wasn't so simple, after all. "Okay."

"You'll be fine. Let's just walk through it step-by-step."

Hannah nodded; but before she and Chris could get into position the sound of the training room door opening cut through the silence. She rolled her eyes when she saw who walked in: Brad Maddox.

"The party has arrived," he announced with a smirk.

"Nice of you to finally join us," Chris commented.

"Sorry, I got held up," he said as he leaned on the ring apron. "What're we working on?"

"Well, Hannah was just about to try a DDT for the first time," Sara answered. "So thanks for volunteering!"

Brad paused; he clearly hadn't expected to walk into _that_. "Sure thing!" he sarcastically returned. Hannah grinned as he climbed into the ring; suddenly she was a lot more eager to learn how to DDT.

Chris and Sara moved out of the way so that they could set up in the center of the canvas. "All right, like I showed you," Sara said. "Kick, front headlock, back bump. And don't forget to signal him and loosen up before you go down."

Hannah nodded. She took a deep breath in through her nose and out through her mouth. She could do this.

She moved toward Brad and kicked him swiftly in the stomach. He doubled over and she put him in a front facelock, keeping her grip tight as she held him there for a beat. Then she slapped him on the back, and before she could think about it she swung her right leg quickly back and forward and let the momentum carry her backward and off her feet. She loosened her hold as they went down, and they hit the mat with a loud _thud_. It could've been a little smoother, but she'd done it.

"That was great, Hannah!" Chris proclaimed. "That _has_ to be how you win on Monday. Did it feel okay?"

"Yeah," she grinned as she pushed herself up. "It definitely helped swinging my leg like that. Are you okay, Brad?"

Brad hadn't moved an inch since they'd hit the mat. "Brad? Hello?" Hannah nudged him in the ribs with her foot, but he didn't make a sound. She did it again, harder. Still nothing.

"Did you kill him?" Sara joked; but Hannah wasn't laughing.

"Brad?" She dropped to her knees to get a better look at his face. His eyes were closed shut and his lips slightly parted—it looked like he was out cold. Hannah's stomach dropped.

"Brad?" she grabbed his shoulder and shook. "Please do something!"

"AH!"

"Shit!" She nearly jumped out of her skin when Brad suddenly grabbed her wrist. Chris and Sara dissolved into a fit of laughter. Hannah went red. He'd been faking it.

"You should have seen your face!" he proclaimed.

"You fucking jerk!" she exclaimed as she smacked him. "I thought I'd given you a concussion!"

"Awww. Were you worried about me?"

Hannah tried to smack him again, but he caught her wrist and pulled her down into an armbar. She was flat on her stomach as he wrenched her arm back; there wasn't a whole lot she could do to counter, even if she did know what she was doing.

"Ask her!" Brad proclaimed.

Chris knelt down in front of her. "What do you say, Hannah?"

"Ow!" All of a sudden she let out of whelp of pain—Brad dropped her arm like it was made of hot coals.

"Are you okay?"

Hannah winced, gingerly cradling her right wrist. "This is my bad wrist, Brad," she explained. "I fractured it back in high school."

Brad blanched—and that was when she put him in a side headlock.

"Like a true heel," Sara proudly stated.

Slowly Hannah worked her way to her feet, bringing Brad up with her. "Do the takedown!" Chris shouted, but it was too late. Brad had already caught her nearest leg and was lifting her up into the air; she was about to be on the receiving end of a side slam.

"No, no no no no no!" she pleaded, but of course he didn't listen. He threw her flat on her back down, and the next thing she knew he'd hooked her leg in a pin. The mat vibrated underneath them as Chris counted _1-2-3_.

"Your winner, Brad Maddox!"

Brad sat up and leaned over her, a giant grin on his face. "Sorry, babe. You'll get there eventually."

Hannah scowled up at him. "It's a good thing you're a short shit, otherwise that might have actually hurt."

"Mm, I love it when you talk dirty. Come 'ere." He leaned down to try to kiss her, but Hannah pushed her hand in his face and scrambled away. He tried to pull her back, but after a brief tussle Hannah got the upper hand and locked on an armbar of her own, Alberto Del Rio style.

"Ahhhh, okay, okay I give up," Brad relented as he tapped; Hannah waited another second before finally letting go.

"Your winner, Hannah McMahon!" Chris took her arm and raised it high above her head in victory. Brad remained spread eagled on the mat, defeated.

"That hurt," he pouted.

Hannah beamed from ear to ear. Maybe learning to wrestle wouldn't be so difficult after all.

* * *

 _Hilton Garden Inn  
_ _Tampa, Florida_

"So how goes training?"

Hannah let out a tired sigh. After returning to her hotel room from training that night she'd planned on taking a long, hot shower and passing out, but just as she'd climbed into bed her brother had called. He'd seen what happened Monday night—and he wanted details. "I have lines of bruises on my back from running the ropes and I ache in places I didn't know it was possible to ache, but other than that it's actually going pretty well. My bumping could use some work."

"Your bumping?" Shane asked. "Hannah, that's the most basic tenet of pro wrestling."

"Yeah, I know," she shot. "I can do it, it just freaks me out."

"Well of course it does; it's completely counterintuitive to fling yourself backwards. Just don't think about it too much. You'll get the hang of it."

"In a week? Didn't Stephanie train for like a month before her first match?"

"I don't think it was a _month_ , but it was definitely more than a week."

Hannah stared up at the ceiling, indignant. "I still can't believe no one even asked me if I wanted to do this."

"Yeah, I'm pretty shocked by that," Shane agreed. "What has Dad said about it?"

"That he assumed I would be okay with it. Which I absolutely would have been—if someone had run it by me first." She thought back on the heated exchange she'd had with Paul at the Gorilla position Monday. Who the hell did he think he was, checking her the way he had? He may be her boss in title, but in fact WWE was _her_ family's business—and he'd just married in. He probably wouldn't even be Executive Vice President of Talent and Live Events if he'd never hooked up with Stephanie. Suddenly, Hannah completely understood why Shane had never liked their brother-in-law.

"Who's your opponent, by the way?"

Hannah pursed her lips. "Oh, that's the best part," she said. "It's AJ."

" _What?_ You're joking."

"I wish I was."

"AJ Lee?"

"That would be the one."

There was a pause on Shane's end of the phone. "Wow," he finally uttered. "I know Stephanie can be a bitch, but that's a low blow."

"Yeah, well come Monday I plan on doing my best Stone Cold Steve Austin impression and giving her and AJ both the metaphorical middle finger."

"Well now I _have_ to watch."

Hannah tried to respond—but a giant yawn escaped from her mouth instead. Shane chuckled. "I guess I should let you get some sleep. Like I said: try not to overthink it when you're in the ring. You'll just end up screwing yourself over; trust me, I know."

"Thanks, Shane. Goodnight."

"Night."

Hannah set her phone aside, rolled over—and was out like a light. At least a restful night's sleep was one thing this whole fiasco was good for.

* * *

 _Thursday, February 21, 2013  
_ _NXT facilities  
_ _Tampa, Florida_

Bright eyed and surprisingly bushy tailed, Hannah returned to the NXT training facilities early the next morning; today she would learn the bare basics of putting a match together. But when she arrived, there was a fourth person standing alongside Chris, Sara, and Brad that she hadn't at all expected to see: her opponent.

She didn't even try to hide her disdain. "What're you doing here?"

AJ's jaw hardened, but she wisely kept whatever smartass comment she had to herself. "Hunter told me to come in so we could work on putting together a decent match. He's right—if we go into Monday having never locked up it'll be an absolute train wreck."

Hannah glanced to Chris, hoping he would bail her out; but he just offered an apologetic shrug. "It's for the best," he agreed. "It's no big deal for experienced wrestlers to go into a match cold, but because you've never done this before I'd feel better about you two practicing together beforehand."

Hannah stubbornly shifted her weight. She didn't want to admit it, but that actually made a lot of sense. "Fine," she conceded. "What's the plan?"

"Well, beginner's matches are generally just a lot of holds and hard hits," Sara explained. "We can work out a few spots if you want, but I think you two should just focus on getting comfortable chain wrestling each other."

"Yeah, and you're already working with an advantage there," AJ added. "Even though I'm more experienced it'd make sense for you to easily overpower me since there's such a size difference between us."

All the oxygen was suddenly sucked out of the room. Hannah's eyes went ice cold. _What_ had that little Spider-Bitch just said to her?

"Don't sell yourself short, AJ," Brad quickly and astutely interjected. "You're pretty wily. Personally, I think the match should start out looking like you'll get an easy win, but then Hannah will make a surprise comeback and you'll go off the deep end. You know, because you're bat-shit crazy."

AJ's expression went stiff. "That works too," she forced.

Hannah bit her lip to hide her smirk. Brad had just earned himself some _major_ brownie points.

"All right then," Chris clapped his hands before it could get _even more_ awkward. "Let's get started."

Hannah climbed into the ring. If AJ wanted a fight, then she sure as hell wouldn't hold back.

* * *

That afternoon, Hannah truly learned what it meant to "work stiff." AJ hadn't let up on any of her strikes; and for such a little girl, she could hit _hard_. Already Hannah could feel a few bruises forming, but it only worked to motivate her more. Spider-Bitch could hit as hard as she wanted—Hannah had no problem matching her blow for blow.

"Hannah! Wait."

Hannah paused, her hand on the exit door. She'd just spent hours in the ring with AJ; the last thing she wanted to do was _talk_ to her. "What?" she sighed. She was expecting a confrontation; but AJ held up her hands as if in surrender.

"Look, I know we aren't exactly on civil terms with one another, but I don't think we should go into this match with all this built up animosity. It'll just get one of us hurt."

"Animosity?" Hannah feigned ignorance. "I don't know about you, but our little sparring session was pretty therapeutic. I think we're good." She turned to leave—but AJ stopped her again.

"Hannah, please," she pleaded. "Let's just call a truce, even if it's just for the match."

Slowly, AJ extended her hand. Hannah stared down at the offer, silent. Oh, this was _rich_.

She looked her dead in the eye. "I'm sorry, AJ, but I didn't even realize we were at war. After all, in my opinion you got your truce when I let you keep your job after you fucked my boyfriend."

AJ froze, her hand still outstretched. There was absolutely nothing she could say to counter that, and she knew it.

"See you Monday," Hannah bit. A smirk grew over her lips as she left. _Bring it, Spider-Bitch._


	12. Let's Light it Up

_A/N: This chapter has been re-edited and reposted! Looking to get the new chapter out by the end of the week. Thanks for everyone's patience!_

 **Chapter Twelve**

 _Monday, February 25, 2013  
_ WWE Monday Night RAW  
 _American Airlines Center – Dallas, Texas_

"You want me to _what?_ "

Hannah was beside herself. She must have heard Stephanie wrong; she _must_ have. There was _absolutely no way_ she'd spent all last week busting her ass inside a wrestling ring just to—

"I want you to kiss Dolph."

Her jaw slacked; she _hadn't_ heard wrong. "Pardon my French, but fuck that."

Stephanie opened her mouth to protest—but Hannah wasn't done just yet. "No, that's _not_ happening, Stephanie. In case you've forgotten, I spent all last week in Tampa learning how to fucking _wrestle_ , and if you think I'm just gonna waltz out there and draw a DQ out of AJ by _kissing Dolph Ziggler_ then you're truly out of your goddamn mind."

Stephanie grew dangerously quiet. The look on her face reminded Hannah eerily of their mother. "You won't just be waltzing out there to kiss Dolph," she evenly returned. "The match is still happening; the kiss is just the finish."

"Why?"

" _Why?_ " Stephanie laughed. "Because you're not a _wrestler_ , Hannah. I don't care what you learned down in Tampa—no one will believe you can logically beat AJ without cheating."

"Oh please, when the hell did you start caring about _logic?_ "

Stephanie's nostrils flared in agitation. If there was one thing she didn't stand for, it was being talked back to. "You know what, I'm not arguing with you about this," she said as she abruptly stood from the couch. "You're kissing Dolph and that's it."

Hannah gave a curt laugh. "I'm _not_ kissing Dolph."

"Like hell you aren't," Stephanie shot. "Don't even _think_ about changing the finish, Hannah. I'll leave it up to you and AJ to work out the rest of the match so you can show off whatever little tricks Maddox taught you." With that she stormed out, slamming the dressing room door behind her. Hannah let out an exasperated groan. This was _not_ how she'd wanted to start her Monday night.

 _Knock-knock-knock._

"Seriously?" Couldn't she be left alone for five minutes? "Come in," she sighed as she collapsed onto the couch; but when the door opened her stomach did a flip-flop. It was Jon.

"Everything okay in here?" he cautiously asked. "I just saw Stephanie storm out."

Hannah momentarily forgot to breathe. Jon had been out of sight and mind for an entire week; between learning to wrestle and passively-aggressively feuding with AJ she'd forgotten all about the goodbye kiss they'd shared last Monday. But now that he was here, standing right in front of her, it suddenly all came rushing back—like a daydream in the middle of a waking nightmare.

"Earth to Hannah?"

"What? Oh, it's fine," she returned as she snapped out of her reverie. "Stephanie just wants me to win my match tonight by making out with Dolph Ziggler. No big deal."

" _What?_ " Jon's face screwed up with confusion. "What're you talking about?"

Hannah let out another tired sigh. She really didn't want to drag Jon into more of her drama; he'd witnessed enough of it already. But she could also really use someone to vent to, and he'd proven himself trustworthy. "Remember that match I'm supposed to have tonight?" she started. "Stephanie wants me to kiss Dolph so that AJ will go berserk and get herself disqualified."

For a few long, quiet seconds, Jon didn't say a thing. He just stood by the door, a look of contemplation on his face. It took Hannah completely by surprise; he didn't _agree_ with Stephanie, did he? "Well," he finally said. "That would be a pretty conniving thing for you to do."

Hannah gaped. " _No_ ," she bluntly returned. "I'm not winning my match by _kissing_ someone. Do you see these bruises?" she held out her arms. "They're from _AJ_. My back is even worse. If I'm gonna win this match then I'm gonna _win_ it, fair and square." She shook her head, incensed. Stephanie and Jon _both_ were bat shit insane if—wait, why the hell was he _smirking_ at her like that? " _What?_ "

"You just want the satisfaction of pinning AJ, don't you?"

Hannah froze. Jon had caught her out, and they both knew it. "Maybe," she sheepishly returned. "But can you really blame me?"

"Not at all," he said. He crossed the room and sat down next to her on the couch. "I think you should pin her. Fuck the DQ."

Her eyebrows arched. "Are you _trying_ to get me in trouble?"

He shrugged. "I've always operated under the principle that it's easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to get permission."

Hannah pursed her lips; _of course_ that was Jon's theory. But maybe he was right. "I don't know," she breathed, more to herself than him. "I'm sorry, I know you didn't come in here to listen to me complain about this stupid match. How was the RAW World Tour?"

"It was good," he nodded. "But I didn't come in here to talk about that, either."

"Okay," she curiously returned. "Well then what can I do for you?"

"Actually, it's what I can do for you. Let me take you out."

Again, Hannah froze. Was he saying what it sounded like he was saying? "You mean… like on a date?"

He nodded. "Well yeah, like on a date."

Hannah's eyes widened. She glanced nervously away, unsure what to say. A date? Was she ready for a date?

"Unless you don't want to and I just made a complete ass of myself," Jon said.

"What? No!" she quickly shook her head. "No, it's not that. I just haven't been on a date since Phil and I broke up. Well, a _real_ date. I went on a date with Sheamus but that was only to get my dad to shut up about it."

"Wait, what?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's a long story."

"Well maybe you can tell me about it. Over drinks, or dinner, or dessert, or room service—I'm not picky."

She blushed underneath his smirk; butterflies danced in her stomach. There was no doubt that Jon made Hannah feel things she hadn't felt since she'd first started seeing Phil, and maybe that was something worth exploring—ready or not. "All right. I guess I can tell you about it over drinks or dinner."

"Perfect. How about tonight?"

" _Tonight?_ " She hadn't expected him to come back with that. But she _was_ free—and, depending how her match went, she might need the pick-me-up. "Sure, I can do tonight."

"What do you know—so can I," he grinned. "I'll pick you up after the show." He got up and started for the door. "Later, boss. I'm looking forward to watching you kick AJ's ass."

Hannah bit back a grin as he left. Maybe she'd go have a little chat with Dolph, Stephanie be damned.

* * *

"Are you nervous?"

Hannah took a deep breath. It was mere minutes until her in-ring debut, and while she was as physically prepared as she could be, her mental preparedness was quite another story. "Yes," she answered.

"Good," Brad returned. "I'd be concerned if you weren't."

She sent him a grin; things had certainly changed between her and her kayfabe fiancé since last week. She had to admit: the little weasel was actually growing on her. "Thank you for all your help, Brad. I know I give you a hard time, but I really do appreciate it. I probably couldn't have done it without you."

"Damn right you couldn't have."

Hannah arched a brow. He grinned. "I'm kidding," he said. "Honestly, you surprised me. You might just stand a chance out there, McMahon."

"If AJ doesn't try to kill me," she muttered. She fidgeted from side to side and nervously tugged at the hem of her top. Wardrobe had outfitted her like the fourth member of the Shield: black cargo pants, black boots, and a cropped black t-shirt that showed off her toned midriff. They'd even wrapped her wrists in black athletic tape. She felt ridiculous.

"I don't think it's AJ you need to worry about," Brad commented. Ever so subtly, he nudged his chin toward the other side of Gorilla. Hannah glanced discreetly over her shoulder—and found Stephanie staring a hole straight through them. If she weren't already accustomed to getting that look from her sister, it'd be absolutely terrifying.

"Think she'll blow a gasket when she sees the finish?" Brad asked.

"Most likely," Hannah returned. "But I literally give zero fucks."

 _Sierra. Hotel. India. Echo. Lima. Delta. Shield._

Hannah's heart leapt into her throat. That was the opening to the Shield's theme. That was her cue.

"All right, Hannah," a producer said. "It's all you."

She took one last deep, steadying breath. "All right, let's get this over with," she said, and she and Brad stepped out into the spotlight.

The arena erupted the very second they hit the stage. Thousands upon thousands of boos rained down on them from every side; the atmosphere was electric. But Hannah didn't pause to gloat for cheap heat. She was on a mission.

Lilian Garcia's voice cut through the jeers. "Introducing first, being accompanied to the ring by Brad Maddox, from Greenwich, Connecticut: Hannah McMahon!"

The boo birds intensified, but Hannah blocked them all out as she made her way down the ramp. Just like last week, there was no need to act: she had no idea what she was doing, but she was bound and determined to win this fight.

They climbed through the ropes into the ring. Brad began massaging her shoulders, spouting off words of encouragement like a corner man in a boxing match. Hannah rolled her neck and shuffled from side to side. Her palms were sweating already; maybe it was a good thing they'd gone with the wrist tape.

The arena fell quiet as the Shield's music cut off; the WWE Universe still didn't know who her opponent would be. Excited murmuring rippled through the stands, and just before the suspense could become too much—

 _Let's light it up!_

The fans leapt to their feet, utterly shocked and delighted that Hannah would be squaring off against AJ Lee. Hannah's eyes narrowed. If they wanted to _light it up_ , she'd sure as hell light it up.

"And her opponent, being accompanied to the ring by Dolph Ziggler and Big E Langston, from Union—"

Hannah snatched the microphone out of Lilian's hand before she could finish. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Cut the music!"

The booing was even louder than before as the music came to a grinding halt. AJ paused mid-skip halfway down the ramp, venom in her dark eyes. Hannah sneered back at her. "What the hell do you think you're doing bringing your two stooges out here with you?"

" _What?_ " Dolph charged—but no one could hear him. He didn't have a mike. None of them did.

"Look, AJ," Hannah continued. "I realize that you're a crazy overly attached girlfriend who's completely incapable of so much as taking a piss without having your boyfriend ten feet away from you, but this is a one-on-one match. Don't even think about coming a step closer to this ring until Dolph and Big E are out of my sight."

The crowd hissed. AJ's hands curled into tight fists at her sides. Hannah smirked. That entire insult had been completely improvised, and it couldn't have felt more satisfying.

Dolph started mouthing off again—something about her having Brad at ringside—but Hannah cut him off. "Is your last name McMahon? I don't think so. What I say goes, so either you and Big E can turn around and take your happy butts backstage yourself, or I can have you removed…"

Her words hung ominously in the air. There was a pause; and then the Shield emerged.

Ambrose, Rollins, and Reigns stalked through the crowd toward the ring. Fans simultaneously booed and cheered, daring to reach out and touch them as they passed, but they remained stoic—at least, except for their eyes. Their eyes were dark and hungry, like wild animals hunting a kill. Hannah smirked; this was almost too easy.

They hopped the barrier and lined up at the bottom of the ramp, creating a human wall of muscle between Dolph and Big E and the ring. AJ cowered behind her two accomplices—but then a familiarly grating voice interrupted.

"Excuse me!"

Hannah expelled a groan. Vickie Guerrero had the _worst_ timing.

"EXCUSE ME!"

"We heard you the first time, Vickie!" Hannah snapped. She was _not_ in the mood for this.

Vickie's face twisted in dissatisfaction as she appeared from underneath the TitanTron. If there was anything the "cougar" didn't like, it was being undermined. "Well I'm glad you're paying attention, Hannah, because I have news for you. You may be _a_ McMahon, but you're not _the_ McMahon; and you're certainly not the one in charge. In fact, I just received a message from Vince McMahon himself that the Shield is _banned_ from ringside, and if they interfere _at all_ in your match tonight you will be automatically disqualified and Brad Maddox will lose his position as Assistant to the Managing Supervisor!"

The fans erupted with cheers. But in the ring, Brad flew into a panic. "No! No, no, no!" he clamored. "Get them out of here, Hannah! You," he waved a hand at Ambrose, "shoo! Get out of here!"

Dean sent Maddox a glare so intense it was almost funny; Hannah had to remember not to break character. "But what about them?!" she yelled into the mike as she pointed at Ziggler and Big E. "How is it fair if the Shield has to leave but they get to stay?"

Vickie gave a shrug. "I don't know what to tell you, Hannah. Maybe Vince thought it was about time you got a taste of your own medicine." Her words dissolved into a wild cackle. She might as well have disappeared in a puff of green smoke.

Seth glanced back up at Hannah. She gripped the top rope, furious at this unfair development—but they had no choice. She nodded for them to leave, and slowly but surely the Shield retreated.

"What's that you were saying, Hannah?" AJ smirked as she and her goons descended on the ring. "What you say goes?"

"And you forgot to order your lap dog out of the ring," Dolph added with a smirk at Brad. "Or is he not trained like the others?"

"I'm surprised you can even talk with your head shoved so far up AJ's ass," Hannah returned—and AJ didn't take kindly to it. She jumped up onto the apron and barreled into the ring, but the ref caught her around the waist and pulled her back before she could reach Hannah, limbs flailing. The crowd erupted. The bell hadn't even rung yet and already there were fireworks.

"Keep her in the corner!" Hannah ordered the referee. "She'll come at me like a spider monkey!"

The ref ordered AJ to stay in her corner; reluctantly, she held up her hands in compliance. But as soon as the bell rang, she charged.

She knocked Hannah to the mat with a Thesz press, shrieking like a banshee as she smacked and clawed at her. She grabbed her by the hair and banged her head against the canvas. She was relentless; the ref had to physically pry her away to stop the attack. The crowd cheered. Crazy AJ Lee was their favorite.

Dazed, Hannah dragged herself on hands and knees to a corner of the ring, as far away from AJ as she could get. She gripped the turnbuckles and pulled herself to her feet—and turned just in time to see AJ charging her. She dodged out of the way, dropped to the mat, hooked AJ's leg, and rolled her up in a perfectly executed schoolgirl pin.

The canvas vibrated as the ref counted. _One, two_ —but AJ kicked out. She scrambled away as quickly as she could, a look of complete and utter shock on her face. Hannah grinned in satisfaction, extended her palm, and made a gesture that wrestling fans the world over knew: _bring it._

The crowd whipped into a frenzy. This time when AJ charged, Hannah was ready for her.

They locked up in the middle of the ring. Hannah put AJ in a headlock, AJ countered and pushed her off—but in another unexpected move, Hannah rebounded off the ropes and hit her with a clothesline that nearly turned her inside out.

"There you go, Hannah!" Brad cheered from the ring apron.

"Oh wow, my grandma could throw a clothesline!" Dolph countered.

Hannah grabbed a fistful of AJ's hair and pulled her to her feet, but AJ threw a forearm into her stomach—hard. She doubled over, and AJ kicked her in the shin. She grabbed her arm and tried to whip her into the ropes, but Hannah reversed the move and pulled AJ's gut right into her knee—hard. Two could play that game. She grabbed her hair again and threw her facedown onto the mat with a sitout facebuster. She rolled her over and hooked her leg, but before the referee could even count one Hannah felt the canvas falling out from underneath her. Ziggler had grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her out of the ring. She went tumbling to the floor below.

The fans booed. The referee pointed a stern finger at AJ's bleached blond beau. "Stay out of the match, Dolph!"

Dolph put up his hands, feigning innocence—but then Brad suddenly spun him around and punched him right in the mouth.

The arena erupted at the unexpected action. Dolph was sent stumbling to the ground in shock, but in solving one problem Brad had unwittingly created a much bigger one; one by the name of Big E.

"Whoa, whoa," he backed away as Big E advanced on him. "Easy big guy."

The mammoth said nothing. He didn't have to; his expression clearly indicated that he intended to rip Brad's head off—but not if Hannah had anything to say about it. Thinking quickly, she grabbed Dolph's discarded Money in the Bank briefcase and hit Big E square between the shoulder blades. But while it saved Brad, it also turned Big E's ire on her.

"Oh shit." She turned and took off in the opposite direction—and ran right into a dropkick from AJ.

She hit the floor with a loud _smack_ ; the bump legitimately knocked the wind out of her. She sputtered and gasped in front of the announcer's table, and AJ picked her up and rolled her back into the ring before she could catch her breath. She went for her first pin of the match, and the crowd counted along as the referee struck the canvas. _One, two_ —but just before he could count three Hannah stuck out her leg and put her foot on the rope.

"TWO!" the ref proclaimed.

"Oh come on!" Dolph argued. "That was three!"

"It was clearly two, are you blind?" Brad charged. "Her foot is on the rope!"

AJ twitched. She ran her hands through her hair and pulled at the ends. She was _this close_ to snapping.

She grabbed Hannah by her hair and pulled her further into the ring. She went for another cover—but Hannah powered out. AJ screamed. She pinned her again; and again Hannah kicked out. Frustrated, AJ grabbed another fistful of Hannah's hair and pulled her to her feet—but Hannah grabbed the back of AJ's legs and pulled her feet out from underneath her.

As soon as AJ's back hit the canvas Hannah was on top of her. She punched, hit, scratched, grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the mat. The referee struggled to pry her away—and as soon as he managed to separate them Hannah was on her again.

"Do your job, ref!" Dolph berated from the apron.

Finally, the ref pulled Hannah off AJ for good. AJ scampered to the safety of the turnbuckle, looking more like a spider than ever. Hannah waited until she pulled herself to her feet, and then she charged.

But AJ hit her with a back elbow. _Hard_.

She stumbled back into the center of the ring, coughing from the vicious blow to her chest. AJ charged, but Hannah reacted quickly, spinning on her left leg and striking her right in the stomach with a back kick. AJ doubled over, the wind knocked out of her. Now was Hannah's chance. She pulled AJ into a front facelock. Swiftly she swung her outside leg behind her, and planted AJ with a devastating DDT.

AJ went limp. The crowd was electric as Hannah rolled her over and went for the pin. This had to be it; she had this in the bag. She waited for the three count—and waited. And waited. But it never came. Where the hell was the ref?

"Get off the apron, Dolph!"

Hannah growled; she'd absolutely _had it_ with Ziggler.

She threw down AJ's leg and stormed over to the ropes. She got right in Dolph's face.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"What do you think _you're_ doing?" he obnoxiously returned.

"I was about to win the match!"

Dolph let out a loud laugh. "Oh gimme a break, sweetheart! AJ could beat you with one arm tied behind her back _and_ blindfolded!"

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, _really_."

"Hannah, watch out!"

Brad's warning alerted her just in time. She dodged out of the way—and AJ's forearm connected right with Dolph's face.

Dolph fell to the floor in a heap. AJ gaped in horror at the mistake she'd made. Hannah immediately rolled her up in another schoolgirl pin.

 _One-two-three._ The crowd exploded, the bell rung. Hannah McMahon had won.

She scrambled to get out of the ring—Big E was already halfway through the ropes—and clumsily stumbled to the floor at the bottom of the ramp. Brad ran over with a giant grin on his face. "Holy crap you won!"

"I won!" she proclaimed as he helped her to her feet. "I WON!" She erupted in hysterical laughter, half out of pure joy and half out of a desire to do everything she could to rub her victory in AJ's face. "I beat you!" she shouted as she pointed back at AJ—and it sent her over the edge. She pounded at the mat with balled up fists and screamed at the top of her lungs like a child having a temper tantrum. If Hannah didn't know any better she'd think she was having an actual fit.

"I think we all know who the _real_ power couple around here is," Brad stated with a satisfied smirk. Hannah grinned and pulled him into a celebratory kiss. She was _so glad_ that was over.

The victorious duo made their way back up the ramp and behind the curtain—and Hannah was shocked to be met with a loud round of applause. She reddened underneath everyone's congratulations; and yelped when Colby scooped her up in a hug.

"Holy shit, Hannah!" he proclaimed. "That was amazing!"

"Stop," she urged. "It wasn't _amazing_."

"Actually, for a week's worth of training it was pretty impressive," Roman said. "No offense, but I was expecting a hot mess of a match."

"Well, I had a good teacher," she said as she nudged Brad with an elbow. "And some good advice." She sent Jon a smirk. He winked. Her blush deepened.

" _Hannah Grace._ "

Hannah's face dropped. She should have known Stephanie would be waiting in the wings like a snake coiled to strike. "Yes, _mother?_ " she snipped. Honestly, why in the world had she whipped out her middle name like she was some petulant little child?

"What the hell was that?" she charged as she pointed back out toward the ring. "I told you not to change the finish and I _meant_ it."

"Oh please," Hannah spat. "Like I ruined anything by changing the finish. I _didn't_ _want_ to win by DQ. So I didn't."

"That's not how it works, Hannah!" Stephanie fired back. " _Every day_ there's someone who doesn't like the way they're booked, but that doesn't give them the liberty to just go and change it! And that includes you. You may be a McMahon, but _I'm_ still the one in charge of Creative and my word is final."

"Actually, Stephanie, this isn't Hannah's fault."

"What?" Hannah swiveled around to look at Jon. What was he doing? Was he _crazy?_

"I convinced—"

"What's going on here?" Vince McMahon interrupted just in time. "What are you two fighting about now?"

"Hannah changed the finish after I _explicitly_ told her not to," Stephanie answered. "But it sounds like Dean was just about to offer an explanation."

"There's nothing to explain," Hannah quickly interjected; she refused to let Jon take the fall for this. "I'm the one who changed the finish."

"And it worked out," Vince said. "I have to admit, Stephanie, I liked Hannah's finish a helluva a lot better than that kiss you wanted."

"Wait, _what?_ " Hannah couldn't believe it. Had she heard him correctly? Had he really just said he liked her finish better?

"You heard me," Vince said. "You did a good job out there, Hannah. I knew I made the right decision bringing you on TV."

Stephanie's jaw practically came unhinged. Vince McMahon's compliments didn't come cheap, even for his children, and the fact that Hannah had gotten one at her sister's expense only made it sweeter. She sent Stephanie a shit-eating grin. "Thanks, Dad."

"Good," he nodded. "Now don't you all have a backstage segment to film?"

"Right! Let's go," Colby grabbed Hannah's wrist and pulled her down the hall. She smirked at Jon over her shoulder as they fled; they'd just dodged a bullet, and they knew it.


	13. On Notice

_A/N: Hello, lovelies. I'm sorry I made you wait (almost) an extra week for this chapter, but I really still wasn't happy with the last one and I seriously needed to fix it before I could even think about getting this chapter ready to post. So yes, I've re-edited and reposted chapter 12, and some parts of it are significantly different from the first version I posted. I understand if you don't go back and read it - I mostly did it for myself to help move my mental block and I have to say I feel much more satisfied now :) Oh and also: I went to Battleground on Sunday and it was awesome :)_

 _As always, thank you for your continued support and patience, and please drop a review at the end! I think you'll enjoy this one ;)_

 **Chapter Thirteen**

 _Monday, February 25, 2013  
_ _Dallas, Texas_

Hannah sat across from Jon, her hands wrapped around a warm mug of coffee. She couldn't drink it; she was far too nervous.

She glanced around at the dozens and dozens of pieces of local sports memorabilia that lined the walls of the restaurant, a 24-hour mom and pop diner they'd found about 15 minutes from the arena. Even in big cities like Dallas it could be a struggle finding a decent place to eat after 11 p.m. on a Monday; it was either this, a bar, or fast food. Hannah had picked the diner, but maybe they should have gone to a bar instead. At least then she could have ordered a drink to take the edge off.

"Relax, McMahon," Jon said as he took a sip of his own coffee; he drank it black, which didn't surprise her at all. "I don't bite."

"Hard?" she returned.

He smirked. "Only if you ask."

Color blossomed in her cheeks. She should've expected an answer like that.

"So," he started as he leaned back in the booth, "you said you'd tell me about this date Vince made you go on with Sheamus."

Hannah gave a wry laugh; she'd forgotten she'd said that. "Do you seriously want to hear about that?"

"Hell yeah I want to hear about it!" Jon proclaimed. "Out of all the guys in the WWE locker room I kinda find it hard to believe that Vince would want his daughter dating _Sheamus_."

"Why? Who'd you think he'd want me to date?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Randy Orton."

Hannah let out a laugh so forceful she almost snorted. " _Randal?_ Do you know how weird that would be? We first met when I was _sixteen_."

Jon smirked. "You had a crush on him, didn't you?"

"What? _No_ ," she dismissed; but the sheepish look on her face said otherwise. Jon's grin widened.

"Yeah you did. You had a crush on Randy Orton back when he was running around with Triple H and Evolution."

"Fine, maybe I did," she admitted. "But I think my taste in men has matured since I was sixteen."

"Well clearly," he returned. Hannah's stomach fluttered.

"So," Jon went on, "when'd you go on this date with Sheamus?"

"Last September. Like two weeks after Phil and I broke up."

"Seriously?"

She nodded. "Toward the end of our relationship my dad would've done anything to break up Phil and me. So when we actually _did_ break up he saw a golden opportunity to set me up with the guy he'd wished I'd been with all along. But unfortunately for him, there was no chemistry between us; we kissed at the end of the night and it felt like I was kissing my brother."

"But Vince still wants you to date him?"

"He thinks I didn't give him enough of a chance, or something. I don't know." She shook her head and took a sip of her coffee; it was time to change the subject. "Speaking of Vince, you're lucky as hell he interrupted before you could rat yourself out to Stephanie. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking I should take responsibility for my actions," he answered. "You never would've changed the finish if I hadn't convinced you to."

"You don't know that."

Jon sent her a look—she wouldn't have changed a damn thing and he knew it. She pouted; maybe he was right. "Besides, it all worked out just fine," he smirked. "You heard Vince: he liked your finish better."

"The look on Stephanie's face when he said that," Hannah reminisced with a smile. "I'll cherish that forever."

"I honestly couldn't believe how heated she got. It wasn't even that big of a change."

"She was angry that I undermined her authority, not that I changed the finish," she explained. "She'll probably find some way to get me back, but I really don't care. AJ gave me no choice but to change the finish."

Jon's brow furrowed when she said that. "What do you mean?"

"Did you see that dropkick she hit me with outside the ring?" she asked. He nodded. "That was only supposed to be a forearm. She legit kicked me in the face."

" _What?_ " he nearly spit up his coffee. "Are you serious?" She nodded. "Well damn. I thought that bump looked a little sloppy. No offense."

"She's lucky I even bumped at all," Hannah shot. "But yeah, after that there was no way I was drawing a DQ. I got the pin, and now I can retire undefeated and with a clean record."

"Retire? Come on," he teased. "Based on tonight's performance, I'd rather watch you wrestle than the majority of the Divas locker room."

"Well, maybe if the company actually gave the Divas a chance that wouldn't be the case," she pointedly returned. "Besides, I don't want to be a wrestler; I never have."

"Well you never wanted to be on TV, either, and look how that turned out."

Hannah pursed her lips at his grin; he could be such a smart ass sometimes. "Even so, when I was a kid I never dreamed about being WWE Women's Champion. I always thought it would be more fun to be like a female Paul Heyman, or something. Except classier and way better looking, obviously."

He nodded. "All right. I could see that. You definitely have the chops for it."

"Thank you," she beamed. "Who knows; maybe I could manage you once the Shield inevitably breaks up."

The corner of Jon's mouth turned up in a crooked smirk. "I could dig that. We could be Stephanie and Triple H 2.0."

Hannah felt herself start to blush again—but her face suddenly fell when she glanced out the window. There was a familiar couple walking toward the diner. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"What?" Jon twisted around just in time to see AJ and Phil walk through the front door. "Oh."

"How many times did I say her name?" Hannah muttered. "I could've sworn I stopped short of three."

"Her spidey senses must've been tingling," Jon commented. He caught Phil's eye and sent him a cheeky wave. Phil didn't return the gesture; he just steered AJ toward the other side of the diner before she could see them. Hannah rolled her eyes. _Typical._

The waitress brought them their food—a western omelet for Hannah and a steak with home fries for Jon—and went on with their evening as if Phil and AJ weren't even there. But every once in a while Hannah would glance up and see Phil staring at them from across the diner, glaring a hole into the back of Jon's head. Or maybe he was glaring at her; it was hard to tell.

"How much is my half?" Hannah asked when the waitress brought them the check; but Jon snatched it off the table before she could even look.

"Don't even think about it. This is a date, remember?" He sent her a wink as he stood from the booth and headed for the counter. Hannah followed behind, her heart thrumming. Maybe she was ready to date, after all.

But, yet again, the butterflies disappeared the moment she noticed Phil and AJ—and they were headed to the counter to pay their tab too.

"Well, well, well. Hey there, Punk, AJ. Fancy meeting you two here." Jon greeted them with that same cheeky grin. And, just like before, Phil looked less than amused.

"Where are the other two stooges?" he shot. Hannah's brow furrowed, confused. Why was he giving Jon such an attitude? As far as she knew he didn't have problems with anyone in the Shield. But Jon wasn't fazed by it.

"Not here," he answered. "It'd be kinda weird to bring them along on a date, don't you think?"

Crimson blossomed over Hannah's entire face. But her embarrassment was nothing compared to the expression on Phil's face; he looked like he was trying to telepathically explode Jon's skull. Hannah's nose scrunched up. _What the hell?_

"Well, we're gonna head out," Jon said as he placed his hand on Hannah's back and guided her to the door. But just before they could exit he turned back, remembering something. "Oh, and great match tonight, AJ. But maybe save your surprise dropkicks for someone who has more than a week of training."

AJ's jaw slacked, dumbfounded. Jon sent them another wave and they left, Hannah grinning ear to ear.

* * *

 _Thursday, February 28, 2013  
_ _Hannah McMahon's house  
_ _Greenwich, Connecticut_

Hannah couldn't remember the last time she'd taken a bubble bath. It was a luxury she'd nearly forgotten—but she was making a point to get reacquainted tonight. The sweet scent of lavender overtook her as she relaxed down into the hot water and fluffy bubbles. Hopefully the bath would help her to relax, if only for half an hour.

It had been three days since her date with Jon—36 hours—and in those 36 hours she hadn't been able to stop thinking about him for a second. She was doing things she hadn't done in years: jumping for her phone whenever she got a text, worrying about what she'd wear the next time she saw him. She felt like a schoolgirl with her first crush, butterflies and all—and, to be perfectly honest, it terrified her.

Her cellphone rang out from where it sat on the bathmat next to the tub. Schoolgirl crush or not, taking her phone absolutely everywhere she went was a bad habit of Hannah's; but, unfortunately, it wasn't Jon calling. It was Stephanie.

"Yes, dear sister?" she answered with a sigh. Hopefully this conversation would be short.

"Well hello to you, too," Stephanie returned. "Can you bring cheesecake to dinner tonight?"

Hannah felt a headache coming on; she'd forgotten all about dinner that night. Their mother had been trying to organize a family dinner for weeks, but if Hannah was being perfectly honest she didn't want to go—the event's only redeeming quality was that Shane and her nieces and nephews would be there.

"You forgot didn't you?"

"Yes," she admitted. "When is it again?"

"6:00. And don't forget the cheesecake."

That was all she said before hanging up. Hannah let out a heavy sigh—so much for relaxing.

* * *

 _Vince McMahon's house  
_ _Greenwich, Connecticut_

Hannah checked the time: 7:17. She could have sworn it had been 7:15 a whole ten minutes ago. Time was moving at a glacial pace, and she was dying a slow death in the confines of her parents' dining room.

"Hannah, you've been checking your phone every ten minutes since you got here. I swear, you've gotten worse about that than all of us." Hannah's mother cast her a chiding look; Linda McMahon _hated_ when people used their phones at the dinner table. As she had always said, work should never interrupt family—even if they were completely intertwined.

"Yeah, Hannah, you've looked on-edge the whole night," Paul noted. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Hannah returned as she twirled her fork in her spaghetti. She tried not to laugh—as if Paul really cared if everything was okay.

"Are you expecting to hear from someone?"

Hannah glanced up at Stephanie. She had an almost invisible sneer on her face, but it was definitely there; Hannah could see it clear as day. She gripped her fork tighter. "No? Why would I be?"

Stephanie gave a casual shrug of her shoulders and went back to her salad. "Oh, I don't know. I just saw you leave the arena with Dean Ambrose on Monday."

"What?" Shane and Paul simultaneously proclaimed. Hannah bit down on her jaw as she watched a sneaky smirk spread over Stephanie's lips. _What. A. Bitch._

"Come on, Steph," Shane rebuked; he could clearly see what she was doing too. But Stephanie feigned innocence just like always.

" _What?_ I saw them leave together so I thought I'd ask."

"Why'd you leave with Dean Ambrose?"

The entire table fell silent. Vince didn't look happy. In fact, Hannah was pretty sure he'd gotten that exact same look on his face when he found out she was dating Phil. She had to swallow a lump in her throat before she could answer. "We just went to get something to eat after the show."

"Like a date?" Paul pried.

"It's really not a big deal," Hannah dismissed. "Can someone please pass the rolls?" She was desperate to change the subject—but Vince wasn't quite as ready to move on just yet.

"Did he convince you to change the finish to your match?"

Hannah froze as she reached for the bread. _Shit._ She didn't want to throw Jon under the bus, but she sure as hell didn't want to lie to her father, either. "I talked to him about wanting to change the finish," she explained. "But ultimately I'm the one who changed it. I don't see what the issue is—I thought you liked it."

"I did like it, and there's not an issue, at least not that I can see," he returned. "I'm just taking note of the situation. Just like I noticed you used Ambrose's DDT in your match."

Hannah swallowed another lump. "That's just how Chris and Sara taught me to do it," she said. Vince grinned.

"Like I said, I'm just taking note. Now—where's that cheesecake?"

"Already? We barely just finished dinner!" Linda proclaimed, and just like that the topic of conversation changed. But while everyone else argued about whether or not it was too soon for dessert, Hannah got an uneasy feeling in her stomach—and it wasn't from the spaghetti.


	14. The House Always Wins

_A/N: Happy Monday! I hope you all aren't too mad that this chapter is a few days late (again), but on a related note I have a PSA. Up until now, all of the chapters I've posted have been reworks of chapters from the first version of the story. However, the next chapter (ch. 15) will be completely new content - and I haven't written it yet. That being said, there will likely be a longer wait for the next chapter to be posted. I just wanted to give everyone a head's up as to what's going on._

 _Now that that's out of the way, I really hope you enjoy this chapter despite its brevity. As always, thank you to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/followed, and please take a second to drop a review once you're finished :) I so, so appreciate it._

 **Chapter Fourteen**

 _Monday, March 4, 2013  
_ WWE Monday Night RAW  
 _First Niagara Center – Buffalo, New York_

 _Meeting. Vince's office. Now._

Hannah could have let out a scream right in the middle of catering when she read Stephanie's text. Between preparing for that night's "Old School" episode of _RAW_ and handling all her day-to-day duties as Director of Talent Relations, she'd barely had a second to herself all day. All she wanted was to sit down for five minutes and have something— _anything_ —to eat, but it would have to wait. Vince McMahon came first.

Her stomach growled in protest as she trudged out of catering. What the hell were they having a meeting for, anyway? The show was live in less than two hours. But when she entered Vince's office and saw Brad sitting across from her father and Stephanie, she realized exactly what it was all about.

"Hannah!" Vince proclaimed as she walked in. "Just who I wanted to see. Come have a seat."

Hannah sent her sister a stiff smile as she sat down next to Maddox. "Let me guess," she said as she settled in. "Brad and I are getting our _RAW_ wedding?"

"Well, first things first," Stephanie diplomatically started. "There's been a last-minute change to tonight's script. Dolph and AJ are going to challenge you and Brad to an inter-gender tag team match next week."

Hannah felt a headache coming on. She'd known this would happen; Stephanie always had to have the last laugh, especially when she was involved. "Well at least you're letting me know about it this time," she said.

Stephanie pursed her lips, but chose not to comment.

"Is there a stipulation?" Brad interjected. He was clearly excited—it'd been a while since he'd wrestled a match on _RAW_.

"I'm glad you asked, Brad," Vince boomed. "Indeed there is a stipulation. If Dolph and AJ win, you'll lose your job as Assistant to the Managing Supervisor of _RAW_. But, if you and Hannah win, _Hannah_ becomes General Manager."

"I'm sorry what?" Hannah was suddenly fully alert. There was no way she'd heard that correctly; she was hungry and sleep deprived, her senses were all out of sorts. He must have said something else. "Hannah will what?" she repeated. But by the way her father was grinning, she'd heard him crystal clear.

"I'm sick of having a 'Managing Supervisor,'" he explained. "I want a GM, and you're the only person I want for the job."

Stephanie glanced to the ceiling in annoyance when he said that, but Hannah paid her no mind. She was too busy internally screaming. "But what about Vickie?" she returned. "What about _Brad?_ Will he become my assistant?"

"Yeah, what about Brad?" Brad echoed. Vince let out a sigh.

"Vickie's done a great job, but her shtick is getting old. And yes, Brad will become your assistant; that's actually the second matter we need to discuss." He glanced to Stephanie. She picked up right where he left off.

"Once you become GM and Brad becomes your assistant, you'll start treating him like crap—which will give him incentive to turn on you. So, behind your back, he'll make a deal with Vince to leave you at the altar in exchange for a wrestling contract."

"Yes!" Brad excitedly pumped his fist in the air; but when he saw how everyone was looking at him he composed himself. "I mean, oh no how horrible," he backtracked. Hannah rolled her eyes.

" _However_ ," Stephanie pointedly continued, "as is usually the case, there's a catch. Before you can leave Hannah at the altar, she'll reveal that she knows about the deal you cut with Vince. Then the Shield will crash the wedding, beat you up, and that's the end of that."

"But Hannah will still be the GM of _RAW_ ," Vince clarified.

"And what will I be doing?" Brad asked. Unfortunately, though, Stephanie didn't really have an answer for him.

"You'll most likely continue to work with Hannah in some capacity. We haven't really hashed out all the details yet."

"To be clear, this isn't happening until after _WrestleMania_ ," Vince added. "But I wanted both of you to be aware of what's coming down the pike. And in the meantime, Hannah, you should head back to Tampa this week. You impressed a lot of people last Monday, but I'd really like for you to get some more training. Maybe Dean Ambrose could help you."

Hannah's heart flew into her throat. The expression on her father's face was completely unreadable. Was he being serious? "Sure," she forced. It was all she could get out.

"All right, well you two should probably get ready for tonight," Stephanie said. "Here're your scripts; AJ and Dolph will challenge you to the match in a backstage segment. And please—don't improvise."

Hannah pursed her lips as she took the script from Stephanie. If there was anyone she should lecture about improvising, it was AJ.

* * *

Phil Brooks wasn't happy.

Part of him wanted to pack up his stuff, storm out of the arena, and catch the first flight back home to Chicago. He still had a match to wrestle, but screw it—he couldn't care less about it. He absolutely could not care less about defeating three other guys for the right to face the Undertaker at _WrestleMania_. He didn't want 'Taker—he wanted the Rock. He wanted the WWE Championship. He wanted the main event.

He turned up the music in his headphones louder. The last few weeks had felt like the summer of 2011 all over again. He was unsatisfied and overworked. He hadn't looked forward to a Monday night since he'd dropped the title. He was just going through the motions to collect a paycheck, and he was reaching the point where even that didn't matter anymore. He didn't want money from a company that constantly took him for granted.

He walked through the halls backstage, ignoring everything and everyone. He'd just spend the rest of the show in his dressing room, wrestle his match, and leave—but a backstage monitor caught his eye. Actually, Hannah caught his eye. Phil cut off his music. She was with Brad Maddox somewhere backstage, and April, Dolph, and Big E were with them.

"Aw, see, Brad! It looks like AJ's little boyfriend lost his match too." Hannah sent April an exaggerated pout; she patted Dolph on his shoulder. "It's okay, guys, keep your heads up. There's always next week."

"Last Monday was a fluke!" April shot—but Dolph quickly intervened.

"You really shouldn't be throwing stones, Hannah," he reasoned. "If I remember correctly, your fiancé hasn't won a single match in WWE. And like AJ said: last week was a fluke. If she got a rematch I guarantee that _Brad_ here would be unemployed."

"Oh really?" Brad returned. "You want to put your money where your mouth is?"

" _What?_ " Hannah's eyes went wide. "No," she frantically shook her head. "Don't listen to him, he's still loopy from that F-5."

" _Actually_ ," April interjected with a smirk, "I think that sounds like a great idea, Brad! But how about we up the ante? Next week on _RAW_ , make it Hannah _and_ you against Dolph and me in an inter-gender tag team match."

The stadium rumbled with cheers—but Dolph and April weren't quite done yet. "I think you're onto something, babe," Dolph grinned. "But we need to sweeten the pot. Seeing as how all four of us are in this match, I think if you and I win _both_ of them should be fired."

" _What?_ " Hannah let out a burst of laughter. "Nice try, Ziggles, but you don't have the authority to make that match."

"No, he doesn't," Brad agreed. "But technically _I_ do."

Hannah froze. "What?"

"We accept your challenge," Brad went on, " _and_ I'll up the ante further. If _we_ win, not only do we keep our jobs—but Hannah becomes General Manager of _RAW_."

The fans erupted. Hannah's jaw dropped. And Phil couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You've got yourself a deal," Dolph agreed, and they shook on it. "Enjoy your last week," he smirked, and he, April, and Big E went on their merry way.

Hannah smacked Brad upside his head. "Are you an idiot?"

"Ow! Just trust me, okay? It'll all work out."

Hannah couldn't even formulate a response. She shook her head in disdain and mumbled something under her breath as the shot cut away to the ring where Michael Cole launched into an excited discussion of the newly created match, but Phil didn't hear anything he said. There was no doubt in his mind that, come next week, Brad and Hannah would go over—and that meant Hannah was going to be General Manager of _RAW_.

He turned his music back on. April was going to give him an earful about this.

* * *

"I thought there'd be perks to hanging out with you. Yet here I am, driving myself four hours to Albany when we could be up in the air on the McMahon family jet sipping champagne and eating shrimp cocktail. Unbelievable."

Hannah let out a loud laugh. She and Jon had just left the First Niagara Center and were en route to Albany, New York for tomorrow's _SmackDown_ taping. Initially she'd planned on making the trip herself—but when Jon had offered to ride along with her she couldn't say no.

"Champagne and shrimp cocktail?" she laughed. "Are you serious?"

He sent her a smirk. "What? Are you telling me you _don't_ have champagne and shrimp cocktail aboard the McJet?"

"That's _exactly_ what I'm telling you. Besides, the _McJet_ isn't even headed to Albany tonight; they're flying back to Connecticut and then driving to Albany tomorrow. And what makes you think you've earned jet privileges, anyway?"

"Well what do I have to do to earn them then?"

She blushed at his crooked grin; she could think of a few things he could do. "I honestly prefer this, though," she said, slyly changing the subject. "You wouldn't really want to be stuck in a tiny pressurized cabin with Paul, Vince, and _Stephanie_ , would you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "That sounds like a barrel of laughs to me."

"Well then I should have brought you to our family dinner last Thursday. Stephanie totally outed us in front of everyone."

Jon sent her a peculiar look. "What? What do you mean she _outed_ us?"

"She announced to the entire family at the dinner table that she saw us leave the arena together last Monday," Hannah explained. "Completely unsolicited; just broadcast my personal business to everyone." She shook her head, irritated—she _still_ couldn't believe Stephanie had done that. Weren't sisters supposed to have each other's back? Keep each other's secrets? Lord knows she'd kept her mouth shut for Stephanie back when she'd started seeing Paul right under everyone's noses. She couldn't do the same for her now?

"So did you not want anyone to know we'd left together?"

Jon's question cut through her thoughts like a knife. Her heart plummeted into her stomach. "What? No!" she jumped. "I mean, of course I don't care if anyone saw us leave together; I'm sure tons of people saw us leave together tonight. But it wasn't Stephanie's place to just blurt that out to my entire family. I would've liked to tell them on my own terms that we're…" she trailed off, unsure how to finish that statement. What _were_ she and Jon?

"Dating?" he finished with a smirk. Hannah bit her lip.

"Yeah," she nodded—but her voice waivered. Jon didn't miss it.

"Hey." She glanced back at him. Even in the dark she could see the sincerity in his eyes. "I get it; one date isn't anything to write home about. Plus, given our work situation, I understand why you wouldn't have wanted them to know just yet."

Hannah let out a relieved breath. "You do?"

"Absolutely. But in the meantime, I guess I better be on _extra_ good behavior when ol' Vinny Mac is around."

"Probably a good idea. He did _not_ look happy when he found out we'd left Dallas together."

"Would he have preferred you left with Sheamus?"

Hannah playfully rolled her eyes. "Just get us to Albany, Good. Don't make me regret giving you the honor of being my chauffeur."

"Oh, so that's what I am now?" he smirked. "All right—well then I expect to be paid in champagne and shrimp cocktail."

Hannah just grinned as she looked out the window. Whatever she and Jon were, at least they were having fun.


	15. Fat Lip

_A/N: I don't know, inspiration struck so here's the brand spanking new chapter (a.k.a. it's not just a re-edit) that's had this story on hold. I'm sorry it's so short, and I don't feel like it's my best writing, but something's better than nothing right? Meanwhile I've created even more Hannah headcanons and I don't know who I want her with anymore..._

 _Please drop a review at the end, it'd really help my morale and creativity :)_

 **Chapter Fifteen**

 _Wednesday, March 6, 2013  
_ _NXT facilities  
_ _Tampa, Florida_

The last thing Hannah wanted was to take another bump ever again. Yet here she was back in Tampa preparing for the second match of her in-ring career—and she had a feeling her new trainer would be harder on her than Chris and Sara _ever_ were.

"Right on time!" Colby proclaimed as she entered the building. He was _way_ too chipper for 7:55 in the morning. "Are you ready to kick some ass?"

Hannah opened her mouth to answer—but a massive yawn came out instead. She hadn't finished her coffee yet and she wasn't even ready to form a coherent sentence, let alone kick anyone's ass.

"I'm giving you ten extra bumps for that yawn," Colby chastised. "Where's Jon?"

She gave a lopsided shrug as she sunk down onto a folding chair. "On his way, I guess. Last I heard from him he was leaving his place in five minutes."

"You didn't come together?"

"No. Should we have?"

Colby shrugged. "I don't know. Aren't you two like a thing now?"

" _No_ ," Hannah fired back. "We've been on _one date_. That doesn't make us a 'thing.'"

"Well, you also rode with him from Buffalo to Albany," Colby argued. " _And_ you took the same flight from Albany to Tampa."

Hannah sent him a look. It was way too early for her to deal with his smart-ass comments. "Seriously? _You_ were on that flight too!"

"Hey," he gave a smirk as he innocently raised his hands in the air. "I'm just pointing out the facts."

"Well, the _facts_ are we're not a thing," Hannah corrected—and just as the words left her mouth, the door to the training center opened and in walked Jon, gym bag slung over his shoulder and coffee cup in hand. Hannah's breath hitched at the sight of him; his mop of dirty blond hair looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, he hadn't bothered to shave his five o'clock shadow, and the t-shirt he wore clung to him in all the right places. Whether they were a _thing_ or not, she could've jumped him right then and there.

"Morning boys and girls," he grinned. "Ready to do this thing?"

Hannah pouted up at him. "Colby's already given me ten extra bumps."

"That's ten more for complaining!" Colby shouted.

Jon's eyebrows arched as he looked down at Hannah. "Well, you better get your pretty little butt in the ring and get to bumping, then."

Hannah let out a groan. She missed Chris and Sara already.

"You really need to get these fundamentals down solid, Hannah. Just because Brad and Dolph will be doing the heavy lifting this time around doesn't mean you can get sloppy."

Hannah bit her tongue as she pulled herself up from the mat. They'd been going nonstop for two hours now and her body felt like it had been repeatedly hit by a semi-truck. Unlike two weeks ago, this time they weren't choreographing the match beforehand; AJ would call the moves on the fly, and that meant Hannah needed to be prepared for anything. So Colby was running her through _everything_ —and while Hannah was sure she'd thank him for it come Monday, at the moment she _really_ hated him for it.

"Run it again," he ordered for the millionth time. Hannah steeled her jaw; the sooner she started, the sooner it'd be over with.

She repositioned herself against one of the turnbuckles, facing the center of the ring; Jon stood a few steps in front of her, and Brad a few steps behind him. She squared up and charged. Jon threw a clothesline that she blocked with her forearms before ducking under another clothesline immediately thrown by Brad. She tagged the opposite turnbuckle, turned around, and ducked under a back forearm by Brad before using a kick to block yet another clothesline from Jon. She tagged the first turnbuckle again and ran to the adjacent corner; Brad jumped flat onto his stomach in front of her on the mat, and she performed a front roll over him. She tagged the opposite turnbuckle, ducked under another back forearm from Jon, and kicked to block another clothesline from Brad. She tagged the second turnbuckle, ran to the adjacent corner and then blocked _two_ clotheslines from Jon—one with her arms and one with her foot—before ducking under a third clothesline and repeating the sequence over with Brad. From there she touched the first turnbuckle again, turned around, and ran straight into a shoulder tackle from Brad. She jumped up, ducked under another clothesline on her way back to the first turnbuckle, turned around, and ran into another shoulder tackle from Jon. Brad immediately covered her—and she immediately kicked out, jumped up, and squared up, heart racing.

Colby erupted in applause that boomed thunderously through the empty training facility. "Yes!" he proclaimed. "That's how I wanna see it done _every time_. Now do it again."

Hannah placed her hands on her hips, chest heaving. She made a mental note to never train with Colby _ever again_.

"Dude, we've done it four times already," Jon argued in her defense. "I think she's got it."

"And this'll be the last time—if she does it like that again."

"And if I don't?" Hannah quipped.

"Well we'll find out, won't we?"

Hannah bit her tongue. Her friendship depended on it.

She set up in the corner once more, and off they went. The first two passes went fine; but on the third her foot somehow got caught underneath Brad, and instead of doing a front roll she came crashing down straight onto the mat—and her face took the brunt of the impact.

"Holy shit!" Colby rushed under the bottom rope and into the ring. "Hannah, are you okay?"

There was a tense pause; and then: "I'm gonna kill you as soon as I stop seeing stars."

Jon smirked. "Yup, she's fine."

"Maybe we should take five," Colby suggested.

"Ya think?" Brad shot. Colby ignored him.

"Well that's one way to learn to face bump," Jon commented as he helped Hannah to her feet. "You took it like a champ."

Hannah winced and gingerly touched her fingers to her mouth. Her bottom lip was pounding. "I bit my lip when I face-planted."

"And _that's_ one way to learn to keep your mouth closed," Jon returned. He took her chin in his hand and gently brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, examining the damage. "Does it hurt?"

"A little."

His touch lingered a few seconds longer. "You're all right," he said. "Might have a fat lip, though, which could get in the way of my plans for tonight."

Hannah's entire body suddenly went hot. "What?"

Jon grinned, clearly satisfied with how flustered he could make her. "Well, I thought maybe later tonight you could come over to my place. Unless you've already made plans to kill Colby, which I would totally understand."

Hannah let out a wry laugh. "I think I can be persuaded to leave killing Colby for another night so long as the price is right. What did you have in mind?"

Jon stepped closer. "Oh, you know. I was thinking we could order takeout, watch a movie… maybe have some dessert…"

The husk in Jon's voice couldn't possibly be misinterpreted. He knew exactly what he had planned for tonight—and Hannah was more than willing to give it to him. "Are you trying to get me to spend the night with you, Jon?" she teased.

He took her by the hips and pulled her into him. "Yeah, I am. Except I won't be sleeping on the couch this time, if that's okay with you."

Hannah felt a fire ignite in her core. She couldn't have denied him if she tried. "I'm okay with that."

"Good." Jon tilted her face toward his, and Hannah's lips eagerly parted—

"Break's over!" Colby suddenly shouted; Jon and Hannah jumped apart in surprise. "I didn't come here to watch you two make out. We have drills to run."

Hannah's brow lowered. "On second thought, maybe we _should_ kill him tonight," she muttered to Jon.

"Yeah, you're right," he agreed. "Let's hit up Home Depot after this."

* * *

 _Jon's apartment  
_ _Tampa, Florida_

"This is it, I'm never moving again. This is where I'll live out the rest of my life; this is where I'll die. Right here on this couch."

Hannah's entire body was in anguish. After finishing up training with Colby she'd gone back to her hotel room, taken a long, hot shower, and collapsed into bed where she fell into a deep, dreamless, three-hour nap. But when she awoke, she didn't feel refreshed; she felt old and broken down. She couldn't move a muscle without it aching in protest, and it had taken her twice as long to get dressed and ready to go to Jon's as it normally would have. And now that her belly was full of burgers and beer and fries, it felt like she'd never move again.

"Yeah, Colby went a little overboard," Jon admitted. "But he just wanted you to be prepared for anything. You know, like surprise dropkicks outside the ring."

Hannah rolled her eyes. "I swear to God, if AJ pulls something like that again I'll punch her straight in her fucking face."

"Easy there, tiger. I don't think she's dumb enough to make the same mistake twice."

"And if she is?"

"Well, then give her hell."

Hannah smiled. Hannah grinned. If that was Jon's advice, then she'd certainly take it; he hadn't failed her yet.

She watched as he grabbed two beer bottles from the fridge and made his way to the couch. Hannah scooted up to make room, but he shook his head. "No, don't move." He picked up her legs, sat down, and rested her feet across his lap. Hannah grinned, content. _Now_ she'd definitely never leave the couch; at least, not unless Jon moved her to the bedroom.

"How's the fat lip?" he asked as he handed her a beer.

"Fine," she answered. "I wanted to ice it when I got back to the room but I was too tired. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow."

"That's the wrong answer, Hannah. You were supposed to tell me you need me to kiss it better."

Hannah let out an unexpected laugh. "Well, I'm sure there will be plenty of time for that later."

"Is that so?"

"Maybe," she teased. She brought the beer bottle to her lips and took a deliberate sip, but her poker face nearly slipped when Jon began rubbing her feet. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than a full body massage. Nude.

"You really impressed me today," Jon said. "Colby put you through the ringer and you didn't complain once. You were out there training like it was for WrestleMania."

Hannah gave a snort; he was giving her too much credit. "Come on, I think I complained a little bit."

"Yeah, when you ate shit because Colby pushed you too hard. But even after that, you got up and kept going. I was really proud of you for that."

Ablush crept across Hannah's cheeks. As far as she could tell, Jon wasn't one to hand out praise like that lightly. "Thank you. That means a lot me."

"Oh yeah?" he grinned as his hand traveled up her leg. "Why's that?"

"Because your opinion matters to me," she admitted. "I know you'd never lie to me just to stroke my ego. It's refreshing." Suddenly, Hannah realized that was exactly what she appreciated most about Jon: he didn't have ulterior motives. In every stage and facet of her life, from childhood to adulthood, from school to work, she had encountered people who pretended to care about her when, in reality, they only cared about the perks that came with knowing her. But not Jon. He couldn't care less about her name or her authority; and for Hannah, that was a huge turn-on.

But that wasn't the only thing—and Jon knew it. "That's it?" he asked with a smirk. "It's only my opinion matters to you?"

Hannah didn't hesitate. "No. _You_ matter to me."

Jon nudged his chin at her. "Come here," he said, and Hannah's body moved of its own accord. She sat up and straddled him, and suddenly their lips were on each other, soft at first, but then feverish, yearning. Jon pulled her closer as Hannah's hands found the hem of shirt—but before she could tear his clothes off he pulled away.

"You matter to me too," he breathed. Hannah gave a yelp as he stood from the couch with her secure in his arms, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, and carried her to the bedroom.


End file.
